l-OS  MJSlGELiES,  GAb. 

GREEK  POETS 
IN    ENGLISH    VERSE 

BY 

Various  Trarislatorss 

EDITED,  IVITH  INTRODUCTION  AND  NOTES,  BV 

WILLIAM    HYDE  APPLETON 

Professor  of  Greek  in  Swarihmore  College 

\ 


iza2.^ 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN    AND   COMPANY 


,  i^A,''i ;  '<^M ; 


Copyright,  1893, 
By  WILLIAM  HYDE  APPLETON. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


:  •*- 

•  %  (  t  o 


A  ?.  A  b 


PREFACE. 


The  editor  has  attempted  in  this  work  to  do  for 
Greek  poetry,  through  the  medium  of  translations, 
what  has  been  so  often  done  for  English  poetry, 
that  is,  to  give  to  the  reader,  within  the  compass  of 
a  single  volume,  some  idea  of  its  wealth,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  stimulate  and  guide  him  to  further  and 
more  thorough  reading.  The  study  of  the  Greek 
language  would  seem  to  be  coming  more  and  more 
to  be  the  study  of  the  few.  But  a  knowledge  of 
Greek  history,  Greek  art,  Greek  literature,  thought, 
and  feeling,  is  the  concern  of  everybody.  Fortu- 
nately,  these  things  are  not  the  monopoly  of  Greek 
V  scholars.  The  English  language  now  contains  much 
\  excellent  translation  from  the  Greek,  both  prose  and 
"O  poetry,  scattered,  however,  through  a  multitude  of 
*  volumes.  With  the  additional  aid  of  the  histories 
of  Greek  literature,  the  many  critical  essays  upon 
Greek  subjects,  together  with  such  works  as  the 
series  of  "  Ancient  Classics  for  English  Readers,"  it 
has  became  quite  possible  to  pursue  a  Greek  course 
in  English.    Indeed,  there  would  seem  to  be  no  rea- 


iv  PREFACE. 

son  why  our  higher  schools  and  colleges  should  not 
give,  in  the  English  language,  courses  in  the  study 
of  Greek  and  Latin  literatures  to  their  non-clas- 
sical students.  Mr.  Richard  G.  Moulton,  of  Eng- 
land, who  has  had  large  experience  in  this  matter  of 
teaching  ancient  literature  in  translation,  has  shown 
in  America,  as  in  England,  how  attractive  these 
themes  may  be  made  to  large  audiences  of  persons 
not  supposed  to  be  acquainted  with  the  works  in 
the  original.  The  present  work  may  be  considered 
as  a  contribution  in  this  direction.  Its  contents 
must  speak  in  its  behalf  and  furnish  the  reason 
for  its  being.  It  is  hoped  that  to  those  little  ac- 
quainted with  th«  subject  the  book  will  at  least 
reveal  somewhat  of  the  astonishing  wealth  of  Greek 
poetry  in  sjjite  of  all  its  loss,  —  a  poetry  as  rich 

"  As  is  the  ooze  and  bottom  of  the  sea 
With  sunken  wreck  and  sumless  treasuries." 

Tliis  very  richness  of  material  has  made  the  task  of 
selection  one  of  no  little  difficulty.  It  is  hoped  that 
the  passages  given  will  be  found  to  be  fairly  repre- 
sentative of  the  great  ages  and  phases  of  Greek 
poetry.  Still  the  editor  regrets  the  absence  of  much 
which  he  would  have  been  glad  to  introduce  wei'e 
greater  space  at  his  command.  He  fears,  too,  that 
as  no  book  of  selections  can  meet  exactly  the  tastes 
and  wishes  of  all,  some  one  of  his  readers  may 
miss  the  very  thing  that  he  hopes  to  find. 


PREFACE.  V 

In  the  case  of  Homer  the  choice  of  translators 
has    heen    particularly   embarrassing.      The   vexed 
question  of  Homeric  translation  cannot  be  discussed 
in  this  place,  but  it  is  safe  to  say  that  no  version  has 
yet  met  all  demands.     Nor  shall  we  ever  have  a 
finality  in  this  matter,  though  Homer  will  not  cease 
to  be  translated  while  the  world  shall  stand ;   for 
the  lovers  of  his  poetry  must  still  puzzle  over  the 
haunting  problem.     Under  the  circumstances  it  has 
seemed  best  to  the  editor  not  to  confine  himself  to 
the  recognition  of  any  single  translator  as  supreme 
in  merit.      For  the  Iliad  two  passages  have  been 
given  from   Chapman    on   account   of  his   position 
in  literature  as  an  Elizabethan  classic.     But,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  his  is  the  last  translation  in  the 
world  to  be  recommended  to  the  general  reader. 
The  reason  is  apparent.     Chapman  is  hard  read- 
ing.     Every  page  has  vigorous  phrasing  and  pas- 
sages of  a  sweet  poetic  charm,  but  at  the  same  time, 
we   can   read   scarcely  a  dozen  lines  consecutively 
without  being  brought  up  suddenly  by  some  obscur- 
ity of  the  sense  through  his  quaintness,  indirectness, 
or  looseness  of  construction.     It  is  too  much  to  ask 
of  readers  of  translation  that  they  should  stop  every 
few  minutes  to  puzzle  over  the   meaning  of  what 
they  are  reading.     Pope,  however  inadequate  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  scholar,  is  in  style  vigorous 
and  brilliant,  and  has  the  important  merit  demanded 


VI 


PREFACE. 


in  a  translation  —  that  of  being  readable.  "With 
this  feeling  the  selections  from  the  Iliad  have  been 
made  chiefly  from  him,  while  passages  have  also 
been  given  from  the  blank  verse  translations  of 
Cowper  and  Bryant. 

For  the  Odyssey  the  editor  has  drawn  largely 
from  Worsley's  beautiful  version  in  Spenserian 
stanzas.  Some  passages  have  also  been  given  in 
the  spirited  ballad  measures  of  Maginn  —  his  efforts 
in  this  direction  being  an  interesting  experiment 
and  cleverly  executed,  but  sufficiently  convincing 
that  the  ballad  manner  is  not  the  manner  of  Homer. 
As  for  that  dream  of  scholars  and  poets  alike,  —  a 
successful  rendering  of  Homer  into  English  in  the 
original  dactylic  hexameters,  — ■  it  seems  little  likely 
of  realization  ;  though  here  and  there  great  success 
has  been  attained  with  single  jjassages,  as  in  Dr. 
Hawtr^'s  "  Helen  on  the  Walls  of  Troy,"  and  in 
Mr.  E.  C.  Stedman's  "  Death  of  Agamemnon,"  both 
given  in  this  volume. 

The  plan  of  the  work  excluded  prose  versions, 
but  it  is  nevertheless  the  feeling  of  the  editor  that  it 
is  through  these  that  the  non-classical  reader  must 
gain  his  neai'est  approach  to  Homer.  The  beauti- 
ful versions  of  the  Odyssey  by  Messrs.  Butcher  and 
Lang  in  England  and  Professor  G.  H.  Palmer  in 
America  are  instances  of  marvelous  success  in  close 
prose  translation. 


PREFACE.  vn 

It  remains  for  the  editor  —  while  recognizing  his 
obligation  to  the  great  translators  of  the  past  —  to 
acknowledge  particularly  his  indebtedness  to  the 
many  English  scholars  of  the  "  living  present " 
whose  names  appear  in  these  pages.  To  the  Amer- 
ican translators,  Mrs.  Lilla  Cabot  Perry,  Professor 
William  C.  Lawton,  and  Mr.  Edmund  C.  Stedman, 
the  thanks  of  the  editor  are  also  due  for  permission 
to  use  translations  from  their  published  works. 

W.  H.  A. 

SWARTHMOEB    COLLBGE, 

Swartlimore,  Pa.,  March,  1893. 


CONTENTS. 


PAOK 

Introduction xvii 

HOMER. 

Iliad 

The  Quarrel  of  Achilles  and  Agamemnon    .        .  3 

Helen  on  the  Walls  of  Troy 22 

The  Advance  of  the  Two  Armies  into  the  Battle  23 

The  Parting  of  Hector  and  Andromache          .        .  24 

The  Trojan  Camp  at  Night 30 

Achilles  refuses  the  Gifts  of  Agamemnon        .        .  31 

The  Valor  of  the  Ajaces.    Sarpedon  and  Glaucus  34 
The  Dead  Sarpedon  borne  by  Sleep  and  Death  to 

his  Native  Lycia 38 

Achilles'  Horses  weep  for  Patroclus       ...  40 

The  Return  of  Achilles  to  the  War  ....  42 

The  Death  of  Hector 48 

Priam  begs  from  Achilles   the   Body  of  his  Son 

Hector (50 

Odyssey 

Penelope  and  the  Minstrel 65 

Helen  at  the  Banciuet 68 

Hermes  arrives  at  Calypso's  Grotto        ...  72 

The  Palace  and  Gardens  of  King  Alcinoiis       .        ,  73 

The  Lotus-Eaters 76 

Circe  and  the  Companions  of  Ulysses        ...  77 

The  Story  of  Agamemnon's  Death         ...  81 

The  Punishment  of  Tantalus  and  Sisyphus      .        .  86 

The  Daughters  of  Pandarus  .....  87 

The  Slaying  of  the  Suitors 88 

Ulysses  tells  his  Story  to  Penelope         ...  94 

HOMERIC  HYMNS. 

To  Hermes 98 

To  Minerva KKj 


X  CONTENTS. 

HESIOD. 

Theogont 

The  Muses 107 

Aplirodite  born  from  the  Foam  of  the  Sea       .        .     108 

The  Works  and  Days 

Pandora  and  her  Casket 109 

EARLY  LYRIC  AND  ELEGLiC. 

Calldtds 

Exhortation  to  Battle 112 

Tyrt^us 

Martial  Elegy 113 

Archilochus 

Equanimity 114 

Alcjian 

Nature's  Calm 115 

MiMNBRMUS 

Youth  and  Age 115 

Algous 

Winter 116 

Imitation  of  Alcseus 116 

Sappho 

Ode  to  a  Loved  One 117 

Hymn  to  Aphrodite    .......  118 

To  Evening       ........  119 

The  Maiden  in  Love 119 

To  One  who  loved  not  Poetry         .         .        .        .  119 

The  Moon 120 

Death 120 

Song  of  the  Rose 120 

Erinna 

Epitaph  on  her  friend,  Baucis         ....  121 

Theoonis 

Song 121 

Enjoy  the  Present 122 

Education 122 

Jove's  Ways 123 

Resignation 123 

Rash,  Angry  Words 124 

The  Poet's  Duty 124 


CONTENTS.  xf 

SiMONIDES  OF  CeOS 

Danae  and  ber  Babe  adrift 124 

Marathon 125 

TheiraopylEe 125 

Epitaph  for  Spartans 12G 

Bacchylides 

Praise  of  Peace 126 

Callistratus 

Patriotic  Song 127 

Hybrl\s  the  Cretan 

Soldier's  Song 127 

Anonymous 

Swallow's  Song 128 

If  it  only  were  Right 129 

Drink  from  my  Cup         ......  129 

Vanity  of  Life 129 

The  Best  Gifts 130 

Ode  to  Health 130 

PINDAR. 
Second  Olympian  Ode 

For  Theron,  King  of  Agi-igentum  .        .        .  131 

Fourth  Olympian  Ode 

For  Psaumis,  of  Camariiia 134 

First  Pythian  Ode 

Power  of  Music 135 

Fifth  Isthmian  Ode 

Visit  of  Hercules  to  Telamon 137 

Fragments 

An  Ecbpse  of  the  Sun 138 

Happiness  of  the  Departed 139 

yESCHYLUS. 

Acambmnon 

The  Watchman  at  Argos 140 

The  Sacrifice  of  Iphigenia 141 

The  Beacon  Fires 144 

The  Woe  wrought  by  Helen IKJ 

Sufferings  of  the  Greeks  during  the  Trojan  War  149 

Agamemnon's  Return 150 

The  Murder  of  Agamemnon 159 


xu 


CONTENTS. 


Choephori 

The  Chorus  mourn  the  Fate  of  Agamemnon    .        .     165 

The  Eumenides 

Song  of  the  Furies 168 

The  Seven  against  Thebes 

Lament  for  the  Two  Brothers 169 

Prometheus 

Prometheus  bound  to  the  Rock  .  .  ,  .  170 
Benefits  conferred  on  Man  by  Prometheus  .  .  176 
The  Chorus  moralizes  upon  the  Fate  of  lo  .  .  170 
Prometheus  utters  his  Last  Words    ....     180 

The  Persians 

The  Battle  of  Salamis 181 


SOPHOCLES. 

CEdipus  the  King 

Prayer  for  Deliverance  from^  the  Pestilence 
The  Holiness  of  Law       .... 
The  Blind  CEdipus  and  his  Children 
Chorus  moralizes  on  the  Fate  of  (Edipus 

CEdipus  at  Colonus 

The  Anival  at  the  Sacred  Grove 
Praise  of  Colonus     ..... 
Long  Life  not  to  be  desired 

Antigone 

No  Respite  from  Divine  Wrath 

Power  of  Love 

Antigone  goes  to  her  Death    . 

Ajax 

Lament  for  the  Affliction  of  Ajax    . 
Farewell  of  Ajax  to  his  Comrades 
Last  Words  of  Ajax  .... 

Electra 

The  Chariot  Race 

Fragments 

Strange  that  the  Godless  prosper 

A  Fair  Eubcean  Shore     .... 

Prosperity  Uncertain 


EURIPIDES. 

Alcestis 

Farewell  to  Alcestis 


183 
186 
188 
189 

190 
196 
199 

200 
202 
203 

204 
206 
208 

209 

210 
211 

211 


212 


CONTENTS.  xiii 

The  Hospitable  House  of  Admetus           .        .  .    213 

The  Strength  of  Fate 214 

Medea 

Warning  from  the  Evil  Fortune  of  Medea        .  .    216 

HiPPOLYTOS 

Hippolytos  with  his  Huntsmen  singing  to  Artemis  218 

Chorus,  celebrating  the  Power  of  Love     .        .        .  219 

Hecuba 

Song  of  the  Captive  Trojan  Maiden       .        .         ,  221 

The  Sacrifice  of  Polyxena 222 

A  Trojan  Wife  narrates  the  FaU  of  Troy      .        .  225 

Helena 

Helen's  Return  to  Greece 227 

Orestes 

Electra  and  Orestes 229 

Iphigenia  at  Aulis 

The  Wedding  of  Peleus  and  Thetis  .        .        .        .239 

Hercules  Furens 

Youth  and  Age 241 

Ion 

Ion  and  the  Birds 243 

Troades 

Cassandra's  Wild  Marriage-Song    ....  244 

Bacch^ 

Chorus  of  Bacchanals 246 

Cyclops 

Chorus  of  Satyrs,  driving  their  Goats    .        ,        .  248 

Love  Song 249 

Fragments 

Children  in  the  House      ......  249 

Retriburton 250 

High  liirth 250 

Noble  Blood 250 

The  Nobly  Born 250 

A  Brave  Man's  Fatherland 250 

ARISTOPHANES. 

The  Birds 

In  Bird-Land 251 

Chorus  of  Birds 2()1 

The  Frogs 

Bacchus  and  the  Frogs 263 

Chorus  of  the  "  Initiated  " 209 


xiv  CONTENTS. 

The  Clouds 

Song  of  the  Clouds 270 

THEOCEITUS. 
Idyls 

A  Carven  Cup 272 

The  Cyclops  in  Love 274 

The  Syracusan  Gossips 278 

The  Distaff 286 

BION. 
Idyls 

Lament  for  Adonis 288 

The  Teacher  taught 293 

MOSCHUS. 
Idyls 

The  Stray  Cupid 295 

Death  the  End 296 

Sea  and  Shore 296 

Love's  Lesson 297 

The  Craft  of  a  Keeper  of  Sheep        .        .        .        .297 

APOLLONIUS  RHODIUS. 
Akgonautica 

Medea  at  Night 298 

MUSiEUS. 
Hbbo  and  Lbandek 

The  First  Interview    .        .         .        .        .        .        .    300 

Leander  promises  to  swim  the  Hellespont     .        .        301 

THE  ANTHOLOGY. 

^SOP 

Life 302 

AGATHL4.S 

Vintage  Song            302 

"  Leave  a  Kiss  but  in  the  Cup  "        .        .        .  .    303 

Antipater 

Lament  over  Corinth 304 

Antipatek  op  Sidon 

Sappho 304 

To  Anacreon 305 


J 


CONTENTS.  -^■' -      KV  . 

ASCLEPIADES 

ToHesiod 306 

Callijiachtis 

ToHeraclitus  . 306 

Crates 

Old  Age 306 

Ion 

To  Euripides 307 

JuuANus  Antecessor 

Stay  in  Town 307 

Julian  of  Egypt 

On  Democritus         ....,,.        308 

Meleager 

Spring 308 

ToHeliodora 308 

Love  at  the  Door 309 

O  Gentle  Ships 309 

To  Heliodora 310 

Metrodorus 

Life  a  Boon      ........        311 

Nossis 

Love 311 

Palladas 

Enjoy  the  Present 312 

Paul  the  Silentlary 

Farewell 312 

An  Unknown  Grave        ......        312 

Philemon 

The  Upright  Character 313 

Philip  of  Thessalonica 

To  Homer 313 

Plato 

'Neath  this  TaU  Pine 313 

To  Stella 314 

To  Stella 314 

Love  Asleep 314 

POSIDIPPUS 

Life  a  Bane 315 

RUFINUS 

Golden  Eyes .        315 

Simmias  OF  Thebes 

The  Tomb  of  Sophocles 316 


xvi  CONTENTS. 

Anonyivious 

To  Amyntor 316 

ToProte 317 

To  Themistocles 317 

The  Spirit  of  Plato 317 

Plato's  Soul 318 

After  many  a  Dusty  Mile 318 

The  Maid  at  the  Web 318 

Response  of  the  Pythian  Priestess     ....  319 

Anacreontics 

The  Dove 319 

The  Wounded  Cupid 321 

The  Grasshopper 321 

Cupid  Benig-hted  .        .        .        .        .        .        .322 

Love's  Arrows 324 

Cupid  a  Prisoner 325 

Enjoy  the  Present 325 

On  Himself 325 

TheSwaUow            326 

PROCLUS. 

Hymns 

To  the  Muses 328 

Notes 331 

Index  of  Titles 355 

Index  of  Tkanslators 359 


INTRODUCTION. 


OuB  debt  to  the  Greeks  in  art,  in  literature,  in 
philosophy,  has  been  universally  recognized.  Great 
as  is  our  obligation  in  the  realm  of  art,  it  is  as  great 
in  that  of  literature.  Some  notion  of  what  we  owe 
to  Greek  poetry  may  be  formed  if  we  can  imagine 
ourselves  suddenly  deprived  of  it,  were  such  an  ap- 
palling calamity  possible  ;  still  more,  if  we  can  im- 
agine that  ancient  song  never  to  have  been  sung,  and 
its  inspiration  and  stimulus  never  to  have  wrought 
their  mighty  magic  in  the  new  literature  of  Europe 
that  arose  with  the  Renaissance.  We  might  indeed 
curiously  inquire  what,  in  that  event,  would  be  our 
poetical  treasure  to-day,  but  the  sjjeculation  would 
be  altogether  idle.  AVe  may  accept  the  fact  of  obli- 
gation with  gratitude  and  wonder.  In  the  presence 
of  the  gi'eat  masters  of  Greek  poetry  all  eulogy  is 
vain.  There  is  simply  no  satisfying  estimate  to  be 
made  of  their  surpassing  merit.  Nor  is  there  any 
final  analysis  that  can  lay  bare  the  germ  or  ])ro- 
cess  from  which  sprang  such  flower-like  perfection. 
Tliere  is  no  art  to  tell  us  how  the  work  may  again 
be  done.  The  wrath  of  Achilles,  the  wanderings  of 
Ulysses,  the  woes  of  the  house  of  Thebes,  and  the 
tragedy  of  the  house  of  Mycenae  still  hold  us  under 
the  spoil  of  their  tremendous  power,  but  they  can 


xviii  INTRODUCTION. 

never  be  told  again.  The  Greeks  created ;  they 
imitated  none  nor  can  they  be  imitated,  for  the 
secret  of  their  art  lies  deej^er  than  ever  plummet 
somided. 

The  great  lines  of  poetical  development  were  in 
the  Epic,  the  Lyric,  and  the  Drama.  When  we 
come  to  consider  the  earliest  poetry  of  the  Greeks, 
the  Epic,  we  are  confronted  at  once  by  the  "  Homeric 
Question,"  that  spectre  which  it  would  seem  will 
never  down.  But  the  question  of  the  authoi-shij)  of 
the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  need  not  concern  us  here. 
Interesting  as  it  is  in  some  ways,  and  leading  in- 
cidentally to  some  profitable  results,  it  is,  never- 
theless, as  far  as  its  solution  is  concerned,  like 
the  wandering  wood  of  Errour  in  which  Una  and 
the  Knight  went  so  Avoefully  astray,  or  like  those 
speculations  of  Milton's  fallen  angels  who  "found 
no  end  in  wandering  mazes  lost."  But  our  failure 
to  solve  the  mystery  of  their  origin  need  not  dis- 
turb our  enjoyment  of  the  poems.  Whoever  the 
author,  whatever  the  process  of  their  constx-uction, 
here  are  the  two  great  Epics,  consistent,  harmoni- 
ous wholes  —  different  in  kind,  but  equal  in  charm. 

The  IHad  is  not,  as  might  seem  from  its  name, 
the  story  of  Ilium ;  that  is,  it  does  not  tell  the 
entire  story  of  the  Trojan  War.  It  narrates  but 
an  ejiisode,  occurring  in  the  tenth  year  of  the  long 
struggle,  and  at  the  close  of  the  poem  Troy  is  still 
untaken.  Still  the  poet  has  managed  to  give  us 
scenes  which  might  be  called  representative  —  such 
as  might  have  occurred  at  any  time  during  the  war, 
and  he  has  made  us  as  well  acquainted  with  its  great 


INTRODUCTION.  xix 

heroes,  Achilles,  Ulysses,  Hector,  and  the  rest,  as  if 
we  had  followed  them  during  the  long  period  sup- 
posed to  have  passed  before  the  opening  of  the 
poem.  The  poet  states  as  his  theme  the  wrath  of 
Achilles  and  its  disastrous  results.  What  is  his 
first  picture  ?  We  see  an  aged  priest  of  Apollo 
drawing  near  the  camp  of  the  Greeks.  In  his  hand 
he  carries  a  gilded  staff  bearing  the  soft  woolly 
chaplet  that  marks  his  holy  office.  He  comes  from 
Chrysa,  the  little  neighboring  town  which  the  Greeks 
have  sacked,  and  seeks  to  ransom  his  daugliter,  who 
has  become  the  prize  of  Agamemnon.  He  is  rudely 
repulsed,  and  as  he  returns  along  the  shore  of  the 
loud  resounding  sea  he  raises  a  prayer  for  ven- 
geance to  the  god  whom  he  serves.  Then  Apollo 
sends  his  darts  of  pestilence  among  the  Greeks. 
Agamemnon  is  humbled  and  returns  the  girl,  but  to 
recompense  himself  takes  away  Briseis  from  Achil- 
les. That  haughty  warrior  yields  to  his  superior 
lord,  but  announces  his  purpose  to  enter  the  field 
no  more  until  his  wrongs  are  atoned  for.  And  now 
the  Greeks  may  see  how  they  will  fare  in  battle 
without  their  foremost  champion.  The  poet  goes 
on  to  tell  how  they  fought  for  two  long  days  ;  how 
at  the  end  of  the  second  day,  trembling  on  the  verge 
of  ruin,  tliey  send  a  night  einl)assy  to  Achilles,  im- 
ploring his  return  ;  liow  he  refuses,  and  they  enter 
upon  a  third  day  of  fighting  ;  how  tlie  Trojans  push 
on  in  victory  to  the  very  beach,  and  are  already 
calling  for  torches  to  fire  the  ships  of  the  Greeks ; 
how  Achilles  then,  to  save  the  fleet  from  utter  de- 
struction, gives  his  armor  to  his  friend  Patroclus  to 


XX  INTRODUCTION. 

wear  in  his  stead ;  how  the  Trojans  flee  in  terror, 
supposing  that  Achilles  has  really  returned  to  the 
hattle  ;  how  Patroclus  is  finally  slain  by  Hector,  and 
how  the  anguish  o£  Achilles  for  his  friend  and  his 
wild  hunger  for  revenge  accomplish  what  nothing 
else  could  do,  and  bring  him  again  to  the  battle  ; 
how  he  slays  Hector  and  is  appeased  once  more. 

Such  is  the  bare  outline  of  the  poem.  But  this 
is  not  Homer,  any  more  than  canvas,  brush,  or  paint 
is  the  picture.  This  is,  however,  the  story  which 
the  poet  has  wrought  into  fadeless  beauty,  the  story 
ujion  which  he  has  lavished  a  world  of  wealth  in 
character,  situation,  incident,  or  episode,  all  trans- 
figured in  the  light  of  divinest  poetry.  Apollo  de- 
scending to  earth  in  the  blackness  of  his  wrath ;  the 
bright-eyed  goddess  staying  the  half-drawn  sword 
of  Achilles  in  the  council  of  the  kings  ;  sweet-voiced 
Nestor  pouring  forth  the  story  of  his  youthful  prow- 
ess ;  Chryses  praying  to  the  archer-god  ;  Olympus 
ti-embling  with  the  nod  of  Zeus  ;  Ulysses  staying 
the  runaway  Greeks  in  their  race  to  their  ships ; 
the  assembled  host,  reverent  before  the  priest,  offer- 
ing their  perfect  hecatombs  to  the  immortals  ;  Helen 
on  the  walls  of  Troy,  entrancing  the  elders  of  the 
city  with  her  divine  beauty ;  Agamemnon  sorrow- 
ing over  the  wounded  Menelaus ;  the  Greeks,  with 
measured  tread  and  silent  as  one  man,  marching 
into  battle ;  Athena  arming  herself  in  her  fringed 
segis  whereon  sat  plumed  Terror,  Strife,  Valor,  and 
the  dire  Gorgon  head  ;  Hector  laying  off  his  helmet 
with  its  nodding  crest  to  caress  his  frightened  child  ; 
the  thunderbolt  falling  before  the  terrified  horses 


INTRODUCTION.  xxi 

of  Diomed ;  Acliilles  sitting  at  the  door  of  his  tent, 
dehghting  his  soul  with  the  harp  and  song,  and 
starting  up  to  receive  the  envoys  of  Agamemnon ; 
Hector  with  the  Trojans  boarding  the  ships  of  the 
Greeks ;  Sleep  and  Death  bearing  the  dead  Sarpe- 
don  to  his  native  Lycia ;  the  fight  over  the  body  of 
Patroclus ;  the  Trojan  host  panic-stricken  at  the 
shout  of  Achilles  from  the  trench ;  Acliilles  warned 
by  the  voice  of  his  horse  Xanthus ;  the  descent  of 
the  gods  to  battle ;  Achilles'  fearful  struggle  with 
the  river ;  the  death  of  Hector ;  Priam  kissing  the 
hand  that  had  slain  his  son  ;  —  these  are  Homer. 

When  we  turn  from  the  Iliad  to  the  Odyssey,  we 
pass  into  a  different  world.  And  what  a  world  of 
infinite  variety  and  beauty  !  The  Iliad  echoes  with 
the  din  of  war.  The  Odyssey  is  a  story  of  adven- 
ture, full  of  the  wild  and  thrilling,  but  not  want- 
ing in  sweet  pictures  of  idyllic  charm.  The  poet 
takes  us  into  the  wonderland  of  the  early  world. 
At  the  Phagacian  court  we  hear  Ulysses,  the  wan- 
derer, tell  a  story  more  marvelous  than  that  which 
Othello  poured  into  the  listening  ear  of  Desde- 
mona :  —  ' 

"  Of  antres  vast  and  deserts  idle, 
Rough  quarries,  rocks,  and  hills  whose  heads  touch  heaven ; 
And  of  the  cannibals  that  each  other  eat, 
Tlie  anthropophagi,  and  men  whose  heads 
Do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders." 

We  yield  ourselves  in  Imagination  to  the  delight- 
ful chai-m.  We  creep  with  the  timid  voyagers  over 
unknown  seas  where  the  rosy-fingered  dawn  ever 
reveals  some  new  surprise  ;  we  linger  with  the  Lotus- 


Xxii  IMTRODUCTION. 

eaters ;  we  escape  the  Cyclops,  and  the  Laestrygo- 
nians,  and  the  charms  of  Circe  ;  we  pass  the  Sirens' 
isle,  with  its 

"  Magic  casements,  opening  on  the  foam 
Of  perilous  seas  in  faery  lauds  forlorn ;  " 

we  escape  the  perils  of  Scylla  and  Charybdis  ;  tarry 
a  whole  month  in  the  island  of  the  Sun,  and  when 
the  foolish  mariners  slay  the  sacred  oxen  of  '•  the 
god  that  travels  above,"  we  gaze  upon  the  awful 
prodigies  that  ensued :  "  The  skins  were  creeping 
and  the  flesh  bellowing  upon  the  spits,  both  the  roast 
and  the  i*aw,  and  there  was  a  sound  as  of  the  voice 
of  kine."  The  curse  follows  the  impious  men,  and 
they  set  sail  again  only  to  be  swallowed  up  in  the 
storm,  Ulysses  alone  coming  safe  to  Calypso's  isle. 
Released  eventually  by  Calypso,  the  hero  comes  to 
the  last  stage  of  his  wanderings  —  to  the  land  of 
the  Phjeacians.'  And  here  the  creative  fancy  of  the 
poet  wins  its  greatest  triumph.  AVhat  happy  land 
is  this,  ruled  over  by  the  gracious  king  Alcinous, 
like  an  immortal,  while  his  lady  wife  and  queen 
"  sits  by  the  hearth,  in  the  light  of  the  fii-e,  weav- 
ing yarn  of  sea-purple  stain,  a  wondeV  to  behold  !  " 
There,  too,  is  their  daughter,  the  peerless  maiden 
Nausicaa.  In  their  palace  there  is  a  brightness  as 
of  the  sun  and  moon  through  the  high-roofed  halls. 
In  their  garden  "  the  fruit  never  faileth  winter  or 
summer,  enduring  all  the  year  through.  Pear  upon 
pear  waxes  old,  and  apjjle  upon  apple  —  yea,  and 
cluster  ripens  upon  cluster  of  the  grape,  and  fig 
upon  fig."     Who  are  these  mysterious  people  who 


INTRODUCTION.  xxlii 

have  naught  to  do  with  other  men,  who  are  near 
of  kin  to  the  gods,  and  whom  the  gods  often  visit, 
feasting  at  the  board  with  them,  seated  by  their 
side  ?  Who  are  these  hixurious  sailors,  "  who  care 
not  for  bow  nor  quiver,  but  only  for  mast  and  oar ; 
whose  ships  have  no  pilots  nor  rudders,  but  them- 
selves understand  the  thoughts  and  intents  of  the 
men,  and  traverse  the  great  gulf  of  the  sea,  ever 
shrouded  in  mist  and  cloud,  and  fearing  no  wreck 
nor  ruin  ?  "  We  can  give  no  answer ;  nor  is  it 
needful.  Must  we  rationalize  every  fiction  of  the 
poet  ?  The  Phaeacian  realm  lies  not  on  earth.  It 
is  the  poet's  dream  of  a  happy  land. 

The  Odyssey  has  the  supreme  excellence  of  ab- 
sorbing interest.  The  old  story-teller  rivets  our 
gaze  at  the  outset,  and  ''  holds  us  with  his  glittering 
eye,"  even  as  the  wedding  guest  was  held.  From 
those  strange  opening  scenes  of  the  poem,  where  the 
lawless  suitors  throng  the  great  hall  of  Ulysses  in 
his  absence,  slaying  and  eating  his  "  trailing-footed, 
crumpled-horned  oxen,"  and  paying  their  court  to 
Penelope  while  the  young  Telemachus,  her  son,  is 
unable  to  repel  their  insolence  —  all  through  the 
poem,  amid  the  various  adventures  of  the  hero,  until 
his  final  return,  when  the  suitors  are  slain  and  the 
king  is  once  more  restored  to  his  own,  the  Odyssey 
maintains  its  wondrous  charm,  the  charm  of  the 
world's  earliest  and  greatest  story-book. 

The  main  themes  of  Greek  tragedy  have  been 
summed  up  by  Milton :  — 

"  Presenting'  Tliehos,  or  Pelops'  line, 
Or  the  tale  of  Troy  divine." 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

The  story  of  the  Pelopidse  may  be  read  in  the 
great  trilogy  of  ^schykis.  In  the  Agamemnon 
tluit  hero  returns  to  his  home  after  his  ten  years' 
absence  at  Troy,  but  only  to  be  slain.  When  the 
herald  has  announced  his  approach  the  Chorus  break 
forth  into  their  wild  mysterious  wail  —  a  wail  for 
tlie  past,  with  dim  bodings  of  calamity  to  come, 
Helen  is  the  immediate  cause  :  — 

"  Who  gave  that  war-wed,  strife-upstirring  one 
The  name  of  Helen,  ominous  of  ill  ? 

For  all  too  plainly  she 

Hath  been  to  men  and  ships, 

And  towers  as  doom  of  Hell. 
From  bower  of  gorgeous  curtains  forth  she  sailed 
With  breeze  of  Zephyr  Titan-born  and  strong ; 

And  hosts  of  many  men, 

Hunters  that  bore  the  shield. 
Went  on  the  track  of  those  who  steered  their  boat 
Unseen  to  leafy  banks  of  Simois, 

On  her  account  who  came, 
Dire  cause  of  strife  with  bloodshed  in  her  train." 

But  there  are  other  causes.  ProsjDei-ity  brings 
pride,  and  pride  goeth  before  destruction.  The 
gods  themselves  are  envious  of  men.  Then,  too, 
ancestral  crimes  are  working  out  their  own  pun- 
ishment. The  sins  of  the  fathers  are  visited  upon 
the  children.  And  now  the  chariot  of  Agamemnon 
draws  near.  By  his  side  is  the  pale,  prophetic  Cas- 
sandra. Then  follow  the  lesser  captives,  the  victo- 
rious soldiers  with  their  ti'ophies  and  all  the  train 
of  the  conqueror.  The  Chorus  change  their  boding 
wail  to  the  chant  of  welcome  :  — 

"  Come  then,  king,  thou  son  of  Atreus, 
Waster  of  the  towers  of  Troia, 


INTRODUCTION.  XXV 

What  of  greeting  and  of  liomage 
Shall  I  give,  uor  overshooting, 
Nor  due  meed  of  honor  missing  ?  " 

Clytemnestra  now  apjiears  with  words  of  hollow 
greeting,  like  another  Lady  Macbeth,  when  Duncan 
passes  under  her  battlements  :  — 

"  I  hail  my  lord  as  wateh-dog  of  the  fold, 
The  stay  that  saves  the  ship,  of  lofty  roof 
Main  column-prop,  a  father's  only  child, 
Land  that  heyond  all  hope  the  sailor  sees, 
Morn  of  great  brightness  following  after  storm, 
Clear-flowing  fount  to  thirsty  traveler." 

Then  she  bids  her  attendants  strew  before  the  king 
purple  tapestries,  as  he  steps  down  from  the  car  of 
triumph.  Let  not  the  foot  tliat  hath  trampled  upon 
Ilium  touch  now  tlie  vulgar  earth.  But  Agamem- 
non protests.  "  Honor  me  as  a  man,  but  not  as  a 
god,"  he  cries.  Doomed  monarch  !  He  knows  his 
danger ;  but  praise  is  sweet  to  hear,  and  he  is  over- 
ruled. Only  he  removes  his  sandals,  as  if  to  avei't 
the  curse,  and  with  words  of  prayer  — 

"  As  I  tread 
Upon  these  robes,  sea-purpled,  may  no  wrath 
From  glance  of  gods  smite  on  me  from  afar  "  — 

lie  passes  to  the  chamber  where  death  awaits  him. 

But  though  the  dark  powers  of  doom  have  wrought 
the  destruction  of  Agamemnon,  liis  murderers  must 
not  escape.  The  second  play  of  tlie  trilogy,  the 
Choephori  (Libation  Bearers),  is  a  drama  of  retribu- 
tion. Here,  as  in  the  Aganiomnou,  we  have  the 
warning  note  struck  at  the  very  outset :  — 


XX  vi  I  NT  ROD  UC  TI  ON. 

"  Those  wlio  judge  of  dreams 
Told,  calling  God  to  witness,  tlaat  the  souls 
Below  Avere  wroth  and  vexed  with  those  that  slew  them." 

Years  liave  elapsed  since  the  death  of  Agamemnon. 
Meantime  in  a  distant  land  his  son,  Orestes,  has 
grown  to  man's  estate.  He  feels  that  a  work  is  laid 
upon  him  to  perform.  With  Hamlet  he  might  cry 
out :  — 

'■  The  time  is  out  of  joint :   O  cursed  spite, 
That  ever  I  was  horn  to  set  it  right !  " 

He  returns  to  the  home  of  his  ancestors.  His  sis- 
ter, Electra,  recognizes  him,  and  together  the  two 
plan  the  deed  of  vengeance  and  deliverance,  ^gis- 
thus  is  first  slain.  Clytemnestra  hearing  the  tumult 
comes  hurrying  in  :  — 

"  Cly.   What  means  all  this  ?    What  cry  is  this  thou  mak'st  ? 
Servant.     I  say  the  dead  are  killing  one  that  lives. 
Cly.     Ah  me  !     I  see  the  drift  of  thy  dark  speech  ; 
By  guile  we  perish,  as  of  old  we  slew ; 
Let  some  one  hand  at  once  axe  strong  to  slay ; 
Let 's  see  if  we  are  conquered  or  can  conquer, 
For  to  that  point  of  evil  am  I  come. 
Enter  Orestes  and  PrLADEs/rowi  tJte  other  door. 
Ores.    'T  is  thee  I  seek :   he  there  has  had  enough. 

{^Pointing  to  the  dead  body  of  J<)gisth0s. 

Cly.     Ah  me  !  my  loved  ^gisthus !     Art  thou  dead  ? 
Ores.  Lov'st  thou  the  man  ?     Then  in  the  self-same  tomb 

Shalt  thou  now  lie,  nor  in  his  death  desert  him. 
Cly.  {baring  her  bosom).     Hold,  boy  !     Respect  this  breast 
of  mine,  my  son. 

Whence  thou  full  oft,  asleep,  with  toothless  gums, 

Hast  sucked  the  milk  that  sweetly  fed  thy  life. 
Ores.    Wliat  shall  I  do,  my  Pylades  ?     Shall  I 

Through  this  respect  forbear  to  slay  my  mother  ? 


INTRODUCTION.  xxvu 

Pyl.     Where,  then,  are  Loxias'  ^  other  oracles, 

The  Pythian  counsels,  and  the  fast-woven  vows  ? 
Have  all  men  hostile  rather  than  the  g-ods. 

Ores.    My  judgment  goes  with  thine ;  thoii  speakest  well 

\_To  Clytemnestra. 

Follow :   I  mean  to  slay  thee  where  he  lies, 
For  while  he  lived  thou  held'st  him  far  above 
My  father.     Sleep  thou  with  him  in  thy  death, 
Since  thou  lov'st  him,  and  whom  thou  should'st 
love  hat'st." 

Orestes  drags  her  from  the  stage.  Her  doom  is 
sealed.  The  son  must  slay  his  mother  ;  so  appalling 
are  the  intertangling  fates  that  enmesh  these  men 
and  women  of  the  Grecian  legend  —  scarce-respons- 
ible creatures,  scions  of  ancestral  houses,  clothed  in 
purple  for  their  petty  hour,  but  ever  mere  pieces  in 
the  game  of  the  high  gods  above  them ! 

Orestes  returns  to  the  scene.  'T  is  all  in  vain 
that  he  would  clear  himself  from  his  awful  crime, 
as  acting  under  the  command  of  Apollo.  Alas  ! 
a  mother's  blood  cries  for  vengeance,  and  as  the 
play  closes  the  dread  shapes  of  the  Furies  appear 
in  the  background  :  — 

"  Dark-robed,  and  all  their  tresses  entwined 
With  serpents." 

The  wretched  youth  knows  too  well  their  meaning. 

He  cries :  — 

"  These  are  no  phantom  teiTors  that  I  see. 
Full  clear  they  are  my  mother's  vengeful  hounds." 

And  he  rushes  forth  to  be  a  wanderer  on  tlie  face 
of  the  earth,  the  "  vengeful  hounds  "  ever  tracking 

his  steps. 

J  Apollo. 


xxviii  INTRODUCTION. 

The  third  play  of  the  great  trilogy,  the  Eumen- 
ides,  is  the  story  of  deliverance.  The  wretched 
Orestes  has  come  in  his  wanderings  to  Deljihi,  to 
the  shrine  of  Apollo,  the  god  under  whose  authority 
he  has  acted,  and  to  whom  he  must  look  for  his  re- 
demiition.  Together  they  repair  to  Athens,  followed 
ever  by  the  malignant  Furies.  Here,  in  the  sacred 
seat  of  Athena  herself,  that  goddess  solemnly  insti- 
tutes a  tribunal  for  the  trial  of  Orestes,  —  a  tribunal 
to  be  revered,  in  all  later  ages,  as  the  highest  judi- 
cial authority,  —  the  famous  court  of  the  Areopagus. 
Here  the  pleadings  are  heard,  for  and  against  Ores- 
tes, and  the  votes  are  equal  for  acquittal  and  con- 
demnation. But  Athena  now  declares  the  merciful 
principle,  to  be  recognized  forever  in  Athenian  law, 
that  equality  of  votes  shall  mean  acquittal.  And 
so  the  curse  is  removed  from  Orestes,  and  he  is  once 
more  a  free  man.     The  story  of  Mycenae  is  ended. 

The  story  of  the  Labdacidae,  the  royal  house  of 
Thebes,  is  told  by  Sophocles  in  a  triad  of  plays  (not 
technically  a  "  trilogy  ").  In  the  Oedipus  Tyran- 
nus  we  see  the  king,  Oedipus,  at  the  height  of  his 
power.  A  j)estilence  is  raging,  and  the  people  have 
seated  themselves  on  the  palace  steps.  With  all 
confidence  they  call  u^Jon  the  king  to  deliver  them 
now,  as  he  had  done  aforetime,  when  he  solved  the 
riddle  of  the  dreadful  Sphinx.  The  king  promises 
his  aid.  The  oracle  announces  that  the  murderer  of 
Laius  must  be  cast  forth.  But  where  shall  he  be 
found  ?  That  murder  had  always  been  wrapped  in 
impenetrable  mystery.  QSdipus  proclaims  his  pur- 
pose to  hunt  him  out,  and  at  the  same  time  impre- 


INTROD  UCTION.  xxix 

cates  upon  him  the  most  awful  curses.  He  then 
adds : — 

"  If  in  my  house,  I  knowing  it,  he  dwells  — 
May  every  curse  I  spake  on  my  head  faU." 

Words  of  terrible  significance,  full  of  the  awful 
"irony"  of  the  Greek  drama.  For  OKdipus,  years 
before,  had  done  a  murder,  not  knowing  his  vic- 
tim, and  the  murdered  man  was  Laius  !  The  search 
goes  on  ;  the  poor  king  is  himself  soon  enmeshed  in 
a  web  of  evidence.  Horrors  on  horrors  accumulate, 
and  the  wretched  monarch  rushes  forth  from  Thebes 
a  homeless  outcast. 

At  the  opening  of  the  second  play,  the  CEdipus 
at  Colonus,  some  years  have  elapsed.  No  jjicture 
of  more  appealing  beauty  and  tenderness  could  be 
imao-ined  than  the  first  scene.  Milton  must  have 
had  it  in  mind  when  he  brings  his  Samson  upon  the 
stage,  sightless  and  led  by  an  attendant :  — 

"  A  little  further  lend  thy  guidinjj  hand, 
To  these  dark  steps  a  little  further  on." 

The  blind  old  king  has  come  in  his  wanderings  to 
a  suburb  of  Athens  —  to  Colonus.  the  birthplace  of 
Sophocles  himself,  radiant  now  and  forever  in  the 
immortal  beauty  of  the  poet's  caressing  verse  :  — 

"All  in  bloom 
With  laurel,  olive,  vine  ;  wliile  nightingales. 
On  crowding  wing,  sing  sweet  within  the  grove." 

And  who  is  the  guide  of  the  blind  old  man  ?  It  is 
Antigone,  the  daughter,  dear,  faithful,  and  true  to 
the  very  last.      Here  it  is  that  the  oracle  has  told 


XXX  INTR  OD  UC  TION. 

OEclipus  that  his  woe-worn  life  shall  find  its  end. 
Theseus,  the  king  of  Athens,  comes  out  to  meet  him. 
The  two  kings  enter  the  sacred  grove  together. 
Suddenly  the  sky  darkens,  the  warning  notes  of 
the  thunder  begin  to  mutter,  and  Q^dijjus  knows 
that  his  hour  is  at  hand.  Soon  is  heard  from  the 
depths  the  divine  call,  "  Qidipus,  CEdipus,  why  dost 
thou  delay  ?  "  And  how  he  passed  away  not  even 
Theseus,  who  was  with  him,  could  tell ;  but  the  after 
legend  could  only  say,  ''  He  was  not ;  for  God  took 
him." 

In  the  Antigone,  the  third  play  of  the  series,  we 
have  the  story  of  a  sister's  devotion  to  the  memory 
of  her  brother  —  a  devotion  which  with  unflinchino; 
heroism  meets  death  itself  rather  than  fail  in  sis- 
terly duty.  Antigone,  as  the  heroine  of  the  play, 
is  the  object  of  chief  interest,  from  the  very  first 
scene,  in  which  she  appears  in  confidential  conversa- 
tion with  her  sister  Ismene,  — 

"  Death's  purpose  flashing  in  her  face,"  — 

and  discloses  her  resolution  to  perform  the  burial 
rites  for  lier  brother  Polynices,  whose  body  has 
been  cast  out  by  King  Creon  to  be  a  prey  to  the 
dogs  and  vultures  of  the  Theban  plain,  while  death 
had  been  proclaimed  as  the  punishment  for  him  who 
should  give  it  sepulture.  She  proceeds  to  carry  out 
her  purpose,  unaided  by  Ismene,  but  is  detected  and 
dragged  before  Creon ;  and  then  it  is  that  she  rises 
to  a  height  of  moral  grandeur  that  is  fairly  sub- 
lime, in  her  appeal  from  the  law  of  a  mortal  to  that 
higher  law,  written  not  upon  tables  of  stone,  but  in 
the  eternal  instincts  of  the  human  soul :  — 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxi 

"  Creon.  And  thou  didst  dare  to  disobey  these  laws ! 
Antig.  Yes,  for  it  was  not  Zeus  who  g-ave  them  forth  ; 
Nor  Justice,  dwelling-  with  the  gods  below, 
Who  traced  these  laws  for  all  the  sons  of  men. 
Nor  did  I  deem  thy  edicts  strong  enough, 
That  thou,  a  mortal  man,  shouldst  overpass 
The  unwritten  laws  of  God  that  know  not  change. 
They  are  not  of  to-day  nor  yesterday, 
But  live  forever ;  nor  can  man  assign 

When  first  they  sprang  to  being." 

« 

But  the  penalty  foi"  breaking  the  law,  Creon's  law, 
is  death ;  and  Antigone  is  dragged  away  to  the 
cave  that  is  to  be  her  living  tomb.  It  is  the  same 
Antigone  that  led  her  father  to  his  restful  death  at 
Colonus.  De  Quincey,  in  a  rapture  at  the  impas- 
sioned beauty  of  her  situation  in  connection  with 
her  character,  cries  out :  ''  Holy  heathen  —  daughter 
of  God,  before  God  was  known,  flower  from  Para- 
dise after  Paradise  was  closed  ;  that  quitting  all 
things  for  which  flesh  languishes,  safety  and  honor, 
a  palace  and  a  home,  didst  make  thyself  a  houseless 
pariah  lest  the  poor  pariah  king,  thy  outcast  father, 
should  want  a  hand  to  lead  him  in  his  darkness,  or 
a  voice  to  whisper  comfort  in  his  misery  ;  angel  that 
bad'st  depart  forever  the  glories  of  thy  own  bridal 
day  lest  he  that  had  shared  thy  nursery  in  cliild- 
hood  should  want  the  honors  of  a  funeral ;  idola- 
trous yet  Christian  Lady  that  in  the  s])irit  of  mar- 
tyrdom trod'st  alone  the  yawning  billows  of  the 
grave,  flying  from  earthly  hopes,  lest  everlasting 
despair  sliould  settle  upon  the  grave  of  thy 
brother!" 

And  here,  perhaps,  we  might  tliink  that  the  play 


xxxii  INTRODUCTION. 

should  end ;  but  the  dramatist  was  not  satisfied 
without  bringing  upon  Creon,  the  wrong-doer,  the 
consequences  of  his  cruelty,  obstinacy,  and  impiety. 
His  son,  Hsemon,  who  is  betrothed  to  Antigone, 
forces  his  way  into  the  cave  and  slays  himself  upon 
her  prostrate  form,  she  having  already  taken  her 
own  life  rather  than  endure  the  agonies  of  a  lin- 
gering death  by  starvation.  And  while  the  hor- 
ror -  stricken  king  is  yet  bewailing  his  son,  "  one 
woe  doth  tread  upon  another's  heels,"  a  messenger 
brings  to  him  the  tidings  that  his  wife,  too,  in 
despair  for  the  loss  of  her  child,  has  dealt  herself 
the  stroke  of  death. 

Perhaps  it  is  inartistic,  as  Mr.  Symonds  suggests, 
that  Sophocles  should  thus,  at  the  very  close  of  the 
play,  divert  our  attention  and  sympathy  from  Anti- 
gone, the  innocent  and  martyred  heroine,  to  Creon, 
the  cause  of  all  the  suffering.  But  certain  it  is  that 
we  find  our  hearts  softening  for  the  monarch  amid 
the  ovemvhelming  wreck  of  all  Ids  happiness.  We 
feel  that  he,  too,  must  soon  follow  the  others  ;  for 
there  is  nothing  now  left  for  him  to  live  for,  in  this 
heritage  of  woe  that  has  come  upon  him.  In  the 
bitterness  of  his  soul  he  cries  out :  — 

"  Lead  me,  ye  guards, 
Lead  me  forth  quickly ;  lead  me  out  of  sight, 
And  come  thou,  then,  come  thou, 
The  last  of  all  my  dooms,  that  brings  to  me 
Best  boon,  my  life's  last  day. 

All  near  at  hand 
Is  turned  to  evil :  and  upon  my  head 
There  falls  a  doom  far  worse  than  I  can  bear." 


INTROD  UCTION.  xxxiii 

Between  Eui'iplcles  and  his  compeers,  ^schylus 
and  Sophocles,  there  seems  to  be  a  great  gulf  fixed. 
With  one,  hand  he  keeps  fast  hold  on  a  world  which 
is  passing  aw-ay ;  with  the  other  lie  is  reaching  for- 
ward to  the  far-off  feelings,  emotions,  and  expe- 
rience of  a  Avorld  that  is  to  come.  Grandeur  is 
the  characteristic  of  the  shows  and  forms  that  fill 
the  swelling  scene  of  ^schylus.  We  are  moving 
among  gods  and  heroes.  All  of  his  personages 
seem  idealized  and  lifted  to  a  higher  plane  than 
that  of  the  actualities  of  human  life.  Thus  in  the 
Prometheus  the  scene  is  indeed  upon  earth,  but  the 
personages  are  super-terrestrial,  divine  —  Hephaes- 
tus and  Hermes,  Oceanus  and  the  sea-nymphs,  the 
Titan  sufferer  himself  —  all  save  lo  ;  and  she,  though 
a  mortal,  is  by  her  relations  to  Zeus  lifted  beyond 
the  human  pale.  The  scene  itself  lies  in  a  region  of 
no  common  tread.  It  is  upon  rugged  cliffs  where 
the  sea  beats  —  inaccessible  to  mortal  foot.  So 
Agamemnon  and  Clytemnestra  and  Cassandra,  so 
the  seven  assailants  of  Thebes,  and  likewise  its 
majestic  defenders,  are  cast  in  no  common  mould. 
And  even  The  Persians,  though  dealing  with  con- 
temporary history,  is  shown  by  De  Quincey  to  be 
invested  with  the  same  ideal  grandeur. 

As  for  Sophocles,  no  words  can  overstate  his  su- 
preme merit —  that  faultless  beauty  of  his  creations, 
that  finish  and  perfection  whicli  the  drama,  rough- 
liewn  by  ^schylus,  seems  to  take  beneath  his  form- 
ing hand.  We  read  that  Soi)hocles,  when  fifteen 
years  old,  was  chosen  for  his  l)eauty  to  lead  the 
chorus    of  boys  who  sang  the  victory  of  Salamis. 


xxxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

Did  nature,  that  eiiclowecl  him  with  beauty  of  per- 
son, endow  him  also  beyond  his  generation  with  the 
love  and  perception  of  beauty  ?  Beauty  is  the  sin- 
gle word  to  characterize  his  dramatic  excellence ; 
and  with  beauty  we  understand  the  Greek  feeling 
for  symmetry  as  well ;  that  sense  of  jiroportion  and 
fitness  which  was  so  dear  to  them.  In  Sophocles 
is  no  excess  —  "  nothing  too  much."  He  is  a  typ- 
ical Greek,  and  his  work  is  typical  of  the  blithe  race 
with  whom  beauty  was  religion,  whose  words  and 
works  are  ever  proclaiming  as  their  final  utterance,  — 

"  Beauty  is  truth,  truth  beauty ;   that  is  all 
Ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need  to  know." 

But  the  characteristic  of  Euripides  is  surely  the 
human  touch.  Here  are  stiU  gods  and  heroes,  but 
they  are  humanized.  They  are  become  like  unto 
us.  We  are  moving^  amono^  men  and  women.  In 
his  knowledge  of  human  nature  Euripides  is  an  an- 
ticipation of  Shakespeare.  In  spite  of  his  proverb- 
ial misogyny  he  has  given  us  women  of  unsurpassed 
nobility.  The  "  spretae  injuria  formae  "  transforms 
Medea  into  a  fury,  but  in  Alcestis  he  shows  us 
"  how  divine  a  woman  may  become."  Euripides 
has  received  hard  treatment  at  the  hands  of  his 
critics,  from  Aristophanes  to  Schlegel.  The  counts 
against  him  are  many.  He  is  too  philosojihical,  too 
rhetorical.  His  people  are  too  disputatious.  There 
is  too  much  striving  for  effect.  True,  all  of  it,  to 
some  extent ;  but  all  this  will  count  biit  little  in 
the  scale  against  him  who  was  the  poet  of  life  and 
character,  the  poet  of  human  nature  :  — 


IN  TRODUC  TIOX.  XXXV 

"  Euripides  the  human, 
With  his  droppings  of  warm  tears." 

Euripides  is  an  interesting  study  in  his  special 
characteristics.  He  belongs  to  the  romantic  school, 
if  we  may  be  allowed  a  modern  word,  —  a  roman- 
tic poet  before  romanticism  was  formulated  and 
named.  He,  too,  seems  breaking  away  from  the 
classic  ideals  of  his  time.  He  will  endure  no  tram- 
mels ;  with  him  all  is  free  and  unrestricted  — 
"wild  above  rule  or  art." 

A  good  idea  of  his  manner  of  handling  a  theme 
may  be  obtained  by  comparing  his  Phoenissae  with 
the  Seven  against  Thebes  of  ^schylus  where  the 
two  poets  treat  the  same  story.  We  may  here  see 
how  Eurijiides  elaborates  and  embellishes  his  mate- 
rial. The  play  of  ^schylus  is  a  grand  poem  cast 
in  the  dramatic  form,  —  tragic  in  the  highest 
degree,  —  the  catastrophe  being  the  death  of  the 
two  brothers  slain  by  each  other's  hand.  It  oj)ens 
with  the  noble  speech  of  Eteocles,  the  king,  calling 
upon  the  citizens  to  support  him  in  this  hour  of 
peril  when  the  foe  are  at  the  very  gates  of  the 
town.  Then  follows  the  great  scene,  occupying  a 
third  of  the  play,  where  the  Theban  scout  makes 
his  report  of  the  condition  of  affaii's  outside  the 
walls,  and  tells  the  names  and  devices  of  the  seven 
Argive  chieftains  who  are  to  lead  the  assault,  each 
stationed  at  one  of  the  seven  gates.  Eteocles  no- 
thing daunted  appoints,  with  splendid  eulogy,  his 
Theban  dianipions  to  confront  them — man  against 
man.  He  reminds  us  of  Macbeth  in  the  liour  of 
his  extremity.    His  coin-age  is  superb.    He  cries:  — 


xxxvi  INTRODUCTION. 

' '  Man  hath  no  armor,  war  hath  no  array 
At  which  this  heart  can  tremble ;   no  device 
Nor  blazonry  of  battle  can  inflict 
The  wounds  they  menace  ;  crests  and  clashing  bells 
Without  the  spear  are  toothless." 

When  the  scout  closes  his  enumeration  with  the 
name  of  Polynices,  then,  to  the  horror  of  the  Cho- 
rus, Eteocles  announces  his  purpose  himself  to  con- 
front his  brother :  — 


(( ) 


T  is  I  will  face  this  warrior  :   who  can  boast 
A  right  to  equal  mine  ?    Chief  against  chief, 
Foe  against  foe,  and  brother  against  brother! 
What,  ho !  my  greaves,  my  spear,  my  armor  proof 
Against  the  storm  of  stones !     My  stand  is  chosen." 

He  rushes  to  the  field,  and  the  play  then  hastens 
rapidly  to  its  completion.  The  Chorus  sing  of  the 
woes  of  the  royal  house,  and  then  a  messenger 
arrives,  reporting  the  city  saved,  but  the  brothers 
slain  by  each  other's  hand.  Then  follows  the  clos- 
ing scene,  which  ^schylus  seems  to  have  treated 
with  an  eye  to  dramatic  effect.  The  funeral  cor- 
tege enters,  and  when  the  bodies  of  the  brothers  are 
set  down,  the  sisters,  Antigone  and  Ismene,  bewail 
their  untimely  death.  A  herald  now  makes  pro- 
clamation that  the  body  of  Polynices  shall  be  cast 
forth  unburied.  Whereupon  Antigone  announces 
her  purjjose  to  defy  the  law  and  perform  the  funeral 
rites.     And  so  the  play  closes. 

The  Phcenissae  is  twice  as  long  as  the  Seven 
against  Thebes,  but  the  main  action  is  essentially 
the  same,  while  the  additional  length  results  from 
the    greater   number   of    dramatis   personae   intro- 


INTROD  v&Trmy^  N.J  -tSi4i^i3^«tii-i  ^ 


duced:  Jocasta,  Creon,  Teiresias,  Menoeceus,  Q^^di- 
pus,  and  Polynices  not  appearing  at  all  in  the 
"  Seven."  The  play  opens  with  the  usual  Euripi- 
dean  prologue  in  which  Jocasta,  the  mother  of  the 
king,  tells  us  that  she  has  arranged  for  Polynices 
to  enter  the  city  under  a  flag  of  truce,  for  a  confer- 
ence with  his  hrother  Eteocles,  with  a  view  to  a 
possible  adjustment  of  their  quarrel.  In  the  next 
scene  the  information  which  was  given  in  ^schylus 
by  the  scout  is  imparted  to  us  by  Euripides  tlu-ou"-h 
a  device  pictui-esque  and  beautiful.  The  girl  An- 
tigone appears,  with  her  aged  attendant,  upon  the 
battlements  of  the  town,  where  he  points  out  to  her 
the  various  cliieftains  of  the  besieging  army.  Of 
course  the  hint  is  taken  from  Homer,  but  the  scene 
has  the  characteristic  touch  of  Euripides.  Then 
follows  the  interview  between  the  two  brothers, 
giving  occasion  to  much  admirable  rhetoric,  but 
all  in  vain.  They  gi'ow  more  bitter  and  part  from 
each  other  in  hatred  and  contemi)t  —  Polynices  re- 
turning to  his  friends,  the  besiegers,  and  Eteocles 
proceeding  to  make  tlie  final  arrangements  for  the 
impending  conflict.  When  Creon  tells  him  that  he 
must  ai)point  seven  champions  for  the  seven  gates 
he  replies  :  — 

"  It  shall  be  so  ;  and  as  thou  dost  adviso 
I  will  appriint  a  chieftain  for  each  ^^--ate  — 
To  equal  foes  opposiiif;-  (^qnal  ciianipions. 
But  yet  to  name  each  one  would  be  d(;lay 
Unseemly  wlii;n  benijath  our  very  walls 
The  foe  doth  lurk." 

The    last    lines    are  curious,  as  evidentlv  aimed  at 


xxxviii  INTRODUCTION. 

>3^schylus,  in  criticism  of  the  long  description  of 
the  chami)ions  given  in  the  "  Seven."  Euripides 
at  the  same  time  saw  an  opportunity  to  excuse  him- 
self for  declining  competition  with  the  splendid 
portraiture  of  the  warrioi-s  given  by  his  great  pre- 
decessor. Next  follows  the  incident  of  the  story 
of  Menoeceus,  who  sacrifices  himself  for  his  country 
—  the  oracle  having  foretold  that  by  his  voluntary 
death  the  city  might  be  saved,  ^schylus  made 
no  use  of  this  legend,  but  Euripides  could  not  neg- 
lect the  opportunity  afforded  him  by  a  pathetic  sug- 
gestion, though  it  was  dramatically  unnecessary  to 
the  main  action.  In  the  next  scene  a  messenger 
appears  and  calls  for  the  queen,  Jocasta,  in  order 
to  report  to  her  the  repulse  of  the  foe.  To  her 
eager,  anxious  questioning  about  the  fate  of  her 
two  sons  he  seems  to  evade  reply.  "  Forbear  the 
rest,"  he  says,  — 

"  Joe.     Nay,  but  I  must  not  forbear. 

Thou  dost  conceal  some  evil  with  dark  words. 
Mess.  I  cannot  speak  the  ill  after  the  good. 
Joe.    Nay,  but  thou  shalt." 

Whereupon  he  tells  her  that  he  left  her  sons  upon 
the  point  of  engaging  in  single  combat.  The  queen 
in  her  horror  calls  upon  her  daughter  Antigone,  and 
they  rush  forth,  if  perchance  they  may  yet  prevent 
tlie  fight.  But  in  the  next  scene  a  messenger  a])- 
pears  to  report  the  worst.  The  mother  had  come 
too  late  —  only  in  time  to  find  her  warrior  sons 
prostrate  on  the  battlefield.  Eteocles  gasping  for 
breath  reaches  forth  his  hand  already  cold  with  the 
coming  on  of  death.      He  is  able  to  utter  no  word 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxix 

to  his  mother ;  "  only  his  eyes  speak  in  tears  his 
love."  His  hrother  Polynices  has  just  strength 
enough  to  beg  for  burial  in  his  native  earth.  And 
when  he  gasps  forth  in  his  last  breath,  —  "  Fare  ye 
well,  the  dai'kness  gathers  round  me,  "  —  the  mo- 
ther can  endure  no  more,  but  grasps  the  fratricidal 
sword  and  gives  herself  the  death.  The  messenger 
has  hardly  finished  his  story  when,  to  crown  the 
horrors  of  the  play,  the  aged  GEdipus  enters,  with 
"  blind,  staff-guided  steps,"  and  joins  his  despairing 
wail  to  the  lamentations  of  his  daughters  over  the 
fallen  sons  and  brothers  :  — 

"  0  had  Cithseron  sunk 
Within  the  unfathomed  depths  of  Tartarus 
Or  ever  it  preserved  my  life.  .  .  . 

And  now  I,  whither  shall  I  g'o  ? 
Who  shall  be  now  the  guide  to  these  dark  steps  ?  " 

From  the  brief  account  here  given  of  the  Phoe- 
nissae  it  will  be  seen  that  Avhatever  be  its  faults 
it  is  fairly  crowded  with  incident,  treated  with  the 
pathetic  huuuin  touch  of  a  master. 

The  Aristojihanic  comedy  is  one  long  revel  of 
fun,  frolic,  and  absurdity.  Its  particular  charac- 
teristic is  extravagance.  Frere  speaks  of  it  as  a 
"  grave,  humorous,  impossible,  great  lie."  When 
we  begin  to  read  Aristophanes  let  us  understand  at 
the  outset  that  we  are  to  be  surprised  at  nothing. 
Nothing  is  too  sacred  for  him.  His  comedies  are 
not  comedies  in  the  modern  sense  of  the  word. 
The  comedy  of  society,  of  typical  ])eo])lc,  of  tyj)!- 
cal  situations,  arose  later.     Of  that  comedy  but  iV'W 


xl  INTRODUCTION. 

fragments  survive,  and  only  from  the  plays  of  the 
Latin  comic  writers,  who  were  avowed  imitators  of 
the  Greek,  can  we  form  any  adequate  idea  of  its 
character.  But  the  Aristophanic  comedy  was,  in 
the  main,  personal  and  political,  satirical  of  public 
men  and  events,  with  a  license  in  language  almost 
incredible.  To  understand  its  many  allusions,  jokes, 
puns,  —  the  points  of  the  play  in  question,  —  we 
must  travel  back,  in  imagination,  to  the  little 
Greek  capital  of  more  than  twenty  centuries  ago, 
and  must  know  something  of  the  political  situation, 
something  of  the  social  life  and  gossiji  of  the  day  ; 
in  a  word,  we  must  live  again  in  ancient  Athens. 
Three  of  the  comedies  of  Aristophanes  may  he 
called  the  "  war  plays."  He  began  to  write  soon  after 
the  opening  of  the  great  struggle  between  Athens 
and  Sparta,  that  "  Thirty  Years  War  "  which  soon 
grew  so  burdensome,  and  resulted  so  disastrously 
for  Athens.  Now  in  war  time  there  is  always  a 
peace  party,  and  so  it  was  in  Athens.  The  Achar- 
nians,  the  earliest  surviving  comedy  of  Aristopha- 
nes, written  when  the  war  was  some  half  dozen 
years  old,  is  a  protest  against  its  further  continuance. 
The  play  takes  its  name  from  Acharnse,  one  of  the 
country  villages  near  Athens,  the  Chorus  being 
composed  of  old  men  belonging  to  that  place.  The 
leading  character  of  the  comedy  is  Dikaiopolis. 
an  honest  farmer  who  is  tired  to  death  of  the 
war.  He  has  been  living  in  the  cramped  life 
of  the  city,  where  the  country  people  have  had  to 
come  for  refuge,  and  he  wants  to  get  back  to  his 
little  farm,  where  he  never  heard  the  word  "  buy," 


INTRODUCTION.  xli 

because  he  raised  his  own  olives  and  garlic  on  his 
own  land.  Through  his  opposition  to  the  contin- 
uance of  the  war  he  comes  into  some  danger  and 
is  brought  to  trial,  but  finally  acquitted.  In  this 
play  the  poet  has  sought  to  contrast,  in  vivid  man- 
ner, the  blessings  of  peace  and  the  calamities  of 
war.  It  is  full  of  allusions  to  tickle  the  ear  of  an 
Athenian  audience  —  banquets  with  all  the  deli- 
cacies of  the  table,  of  which  the  war  had  so  long 
deprived  them,  together  with  their  attendant  plea- 
sures —  the  chaplets,  the  flute-players,  and  the  dan- 
cers. The  closing  scene  of  the  comedy  was  prob- 
ably prepared  with  great  care  to  form  a  grand 
tableau,  as  the  final  illustration  of  the  moral  of  the 
play  —  Peace.  Lamachus,  a  general  in  the  war, 
comes  limping  in,  wounded  on  one  of  his  expedi- 
tions, and  calling  loudly  for  ointment  and  bandages. 
On  the  other  hand,  Dikaio])olis  appears  with  a  com- 
pany of  fellow  -  revelers  just  ready  to  engage  in 
the  festivity  of  an  elaborate  banquet,  the  prepara- 
tions for  which  the  audience  have  seen  going  on  in 
the  preceding  scene. 

There  are  two  other  war  comedies,  the  Peace 
and  the  Lysistrata.  In  the  Peace  a  discontented 
Athenian,  Trygaeus,  rides  uj)  to  heaven  on  a  beetle 
to  intercede  with  Zeus  and  piociiro  })eace.  All  the 
gods  are  gone  away  except  Hermes.  Tin;  gods,  he 
says,  are  disgusted  with  the  Greeks  and  liave  gone 
off  to  get  out  of  their  way,  leaving  War  in  their 
place  with  instructions  to  jjound  the  Greeks  to 
pieces  in  an  enormous  mortar  ;  and  as  for  Peace, 
War  has  cast  her  into  a  deej)  pit  and  liea])ed  stones 


xlii  INTRODUCTION. 

upon  her.  Trygseus,  however,  manages  to  draw 
out  Peace,  and  brings  her  and  her  attendants,  The- 
oria  (Holiday)  and  Opora  (Plenty),  with  great  re- 
joicing to  Athens.  In  the  Lysistrata,  written  Avhen 
the  war  had  dragged  on  to  its  twentieth  year,  the 
women  are  represented  as  laying  hold  of  the  gov- 
ernment with  a  view  to  ending  the  struggle.  Now 
these  three  plays  represent  the  burning  question  of 
the  time  —  the  war  with  the  Lacedaemonians.  But 
other  interests,  too,  there  were  which  engaged  the 
attention  of  men,  and  which  came  under  the  lash 
of  Aristophanes.  In  certain  comedies  the  personal 
element  comes  out  strongly.  In  the  Knights,  Cleon, 
the  demagogue,  is  assailed.  Terribly  does  the  poet 
belabor  the  upstart  tanner,  this  creature  of  vulgar 
birth  and  foul  tongue,  whom  he  so  despised.  The 
whole  essence  and  spirit  of  the  wrath  of  Aristopha- 
nes might  be  said  to  be  concentrated  in  that  cry  of 
the  Knights  as  they  sweep  down  upon  the  wretched 
demagogue  :  — 

' '  Close  around  him  and  confound  him,  the  conf ounder  of 

us  all. 
Pelt  him,  pummel  him  and  mawl  him  ;  rummage,  ransack, 

overhaul  him, 
Overhear  him  and  out-bawl  him  ;  bear  him  down  and  bring 

him  under. 
Bellow  like  a   burst  of   thunder,    robber !   harpy  !  sink  of 

plunder ! 
Rogue  and  villain !  rogue  and  cheat !  rogue  and  villain,  I 

repeat !  " 

In  the  Clouds  it  is  Socrates  who  is  satirized  ;  in 
the  Frogs  it  is  Euripides.  In  each  of  these  plays 
we  see  the  fight  of  the  conservative  —  in  the  Clouds 


INTRODUCTION.  xliii 

against  the  teachers  of  new-fangled  manners  and 
morals ;  in  the  Frogs  against  innovators  in  poetry 
like  Euripides,  who  not  merely  in  this  play,  but 
elsewhere,  received  the  hardest  treatment  from  the 
hands  of  his  great  contemporary. 

But  no  short  account  can  present  any  adequate 
idea  of  the  abounding  wealth  of  Aristophanes. 
This  wealth,  indeed,  is  a  notable  characteristic  — 
this  unending  resource,  extending  in  every  direc- 
tion. His  fertility  and  facility  in  the  use  of  char- 
acter and  situation,  yea,  even  in  word,  are  amazing. 
They  are  seen,  too,  in  his  transitions,  his  contrasts. 
Never  was  the  juxtaposition  of  the  incongruous 
more  fully  realized.  In  the  midst  of  the  broadest 
farce,  suddenly  ring  out  the  notes  of  sweetest  lyric 
melody  —  some  plaint  of  nightingale  ;  some  joyous 
song  of  the  cloud-maidens  that  float  on  forever 
through  the  depths  of  ether ;  some  solemn  chant  of 
the  rapt  "  initiates  "  of  the  Elysian  Fields. 

The  fact  that  so  small  a  part  of  the  Greek 
drama  has  survived  the  wreck  of  time  may  well 
cause  the  keenest  regret.  We  i)Ossess  hardly  a 
tenth  of  the  work  of  ^schylus  and  Sophocles ;  and 
though  we  have  a  larger  number  of  plays  from 
Piuripides,  they  form  but  a  small  part  of  the  dramas 
credited  to  him.  As  for  Phrynicus,  Agathon,  Ion 
of  Chios,  and  the  otlier  tragic  writers,  coiitcnipora- 
ries  or  successors  of  the  "  great  triad  "  —  they  are 
mere  names  for  us. 

In  comedy,  too,  the  loss  has  been  immense.  Of 
the  earlier  comic  writers  Aristophanes  is  the  only 
survivor,  and  we  have  from  him  nt)t  a  quarter  of 


xliv  INTRODUCTION. 

the  plays  he  is  said  to  have  written.  From  the 
New  Comedy,  of  which  Menander  was  the  acknow- 
ledged master,  we  have  not  a  single  play  —  only 
fragments.  Says  Mahaffy,  —  "  There  is  no  branch 
of  Greek  literature  which  seems  to  have  been  more 
prolific  than  comedy  ;  and  yet,  of  the  many  hun- 
dreds of  pieces  cited,  there  is  not  a  single  complete 
sjjeciraen  surviving." 

It  is  not  intended  nor  is  it  possible  to  give  in 
this  introduction  a  complete  account  of  Greek  poe- 
try. The  object  has  been  to  indicate  some  of  its 
important  phases,  though  with  necessarily  inadequate 
ti'eatment.  While  the  Epic  and  the  Drama  are  the 
chief  treasure  left  to  us,  enough  has  survived  of 
the  Lyric  (outside  the  dramatic  choruses)  to  show 
us  that  this  was  indeed  "  a  song  in  many  keys." 
In  order  of  time  the  Lyric  follows  the  Epic,  and 
from  one  of  its  forms  —  the  choral  ode  —  was  de- 
veloped the  Drama,  the  ode  or  chorus  continuing 
to  form  a  characteristic  and  beautiful  feature  in  its 
construction.  But  of  the  many  varieties  of  choral 
poetry  enumerated  in  the  ancient  writers  little  now 
remains.  From  Pindar  we  have  some  forty  com- 
plete poems  of  the  class  called  Ejiinicia  or  Odes 
of  Victory,  but  only  fragments  are  left  to  represent 
the  various  other  departments  of  lyric  verse  in 
which  he  excelled.  His  great  triumphal  odes  are  a 
special  study.  They  are  the  delight  of  the  scholar, 
but  in  the  changed  conditions  of  modern  life  can- 
not appeal  to-day  to  readers  generally  as  they  did 
to  the  old  Greek  world.     Says   Mr.  Jebb  :   "  The 


INTRODUCTION.  xlv 

glory  of  his  song  has  passed  forever  from  the 
world  with  the  sound  of  the  rolling  harmonies  on 
which  it  once  was  borne,  with  the  splendor  of  rush- 
ing chariots  and  athletic  forms  around  which  it 
thi-ew  its  radiance,  with  the  white-pillared  cities  by 
the  ^gean  or  Sicilian  sea  in  which  it  wrought  its 
spell,  with  the  behefs  or  joys  which  it  ennobled  ; 
but  those  who  love  his  poetry,  and  who  strive  to 
enter  into  its  high  places,  can  still  know  that  they 
breathe  a  pure  and  bracing  air,  and  can  still  feel 
vibrating  through  a  clear,  calm  sky  the  strong 
pulse  of  the  eagle's  wings  as  he  soars  with  steady 
eyes  against  the  sun." 

But  if  Pindar  is  rather  for  the  few,  there  are 
others  of  the  earlier  poets  whose  appeal  is  more 
general.  The  strains  (alas  !  too  few)  of  Tyrtseus, 
of  Mimnermus,  of  Sappho,  and  of  Simonides,  with 
tlieir  bui'den  of  pathetic  fervor,  of  tender  melan- 
choly, or  of  joyous  appreciation  of  the  nature  about 
us  and  the  love  within  us,  must  have  their  peren- 
nial charm,  because  they  vibrate  to  that  one  touch 
of  nature  which  makes  the  whole  world  kin. 

With  the  passing  away  of  the  great  dramatic 
period  Greek  poetry  enters  upon  its  decline.  With 
the  conquests  of  Alexander,  Greek  civilization  and 
culture  are  more  widely  diffused.  Alexandria  be- 
comes a  new  literary  centre.  Here  and  elsewheie 
poetry  is  wi-itten,  thougli  rarely  with  tlie  fresh 
spontaneous  charm  of  its  early  forms.  It  is  now 
the  "  child  of  an  age  that  lecrturos,  not  creates." 
Still,  mncli  of  this  later  ])oetry.  albeit  more  artifi- 
cial, has  the  Greek  sense  of  beauty  yet  ])alpitating 


xlvi  INTRODUCTION. 

within  it  which  will  make  it  a  joy  forever.  The» 
ocritus  and  the  Sicilian  brotherhood  must  e'en  take 
their  pleasure  in  all  that  is  beautiful  while  they 
may  ;  and  above  all,  their  pleasure  in  song.  "  Do 
but  sing,"  cries  one  of  their  shepherds :  — 

"  There  is  no  more  sunshine  nor  singings 
Under   the    grave,    in  the  realm  of  the  dead  where  all  is 
forgotten." 

At  the  beginning  of  the  Christian  Era  the  great 
epochs  of  Greek  poetry  have  passed  away.  We 
still,  however,  find  polished  verse  written  on  a  vari- 
ety of  themes.  The  old  Greek  fire,  too,  flashes  up 
at  intervals  in  the  mystical  outpourings  of  Neo- 
platonism,  and  in  the  verse  of  Nonnus,  Quintus 
Smyrnseus,  and  Musseus.  Proclus'  Prayer  to  the 
Muses  is  an  exquisite  strain  —  in  part  a  wail,  but 
in  the  main  an  aspiration,  a  prayer  for  safe  guid- 
ance to  the  haven  of  rest,  — 

"  Where  the  immortals  are,  when  this  life's  fever 
Is  left  behind  as  a  dread  gulf  o'erpassed  ; 
And  souls,  like  mariners,  escaped  forever, 
Throng  on  the  happy  foreland,  saved  at  last." 

With  Proclus  (450  A.  d.),  it  has  been  said,  the 
long  catalogue  of  Poets  may  end  —  the  line  that 
reaches  back,  through  fifteen  centuries,  to  Homer. 


GREEK  POETS  IN  ENGLISH  VERSE. 


HOMER. 

ILIAD,  I.  1-430. 

THE    QUARREL    OF    ACHILLES   AND    AGA- 
MEMNON. 

/2S2-3 
The  Invocation  ;  Chrijses,  the  Priest ;  the  Pes- 
tilence. 

Achilles'  wrath,  to  Greece  the  direful  spring 
Of  woes  unnumbered,  heavenly  goddess,  sing ! 
That  wrath  which  hurled  to  Pluto's  gloomy  reign 
The  souls  of  mighty  chiefs  untunely  slain  ; 
Whose  limbs  unburied  on  the  naked  shore, 
Devouring  dogs  and  hungry  vultures  tore  ; 
Since  great  Achilles  and  Atrides  strove. 
Such  was  the  sovereign  doom,  and  such  the  will  of 
Jove  ! 

Declare,  O  Muse  !  in  what  iU-fated  hour 
Sprung  the  fierce  strife,  from  what  offended  power  ? 
Latona's  son  a  dire  contagion  s})read, 
And  heaped  tlie  camp  with  mountains  of  the  deail ; 
The  king  of  men  his  reverend  priest  defied, 
And  for  the  king's  offense  the  peo])le  died. 

For  Chryses  sought  with  costly  gifts  to  gain 
His  captive  daughter  from  the  victor's  chain. 
Suppliant  the  venerable  father  stands, 
A2)ollo's  awful  ensigns  grace  his  hands  : 


4  HOMER. 

By  these  he  begs  ;  and  lowly  bending  down, 
Extends  the  sceptre  and  the  laurel  crown. 
He  sued  to  all,  but  chief  implored  for  grace 
The  brother-kings  of  Atreus'  royal  race. 

"  Ye  kings   and    warriors  !     may  your  vows    be 
crowned, 
And  Troy's  proud  walls  lie  level  with  the  ground. 
May  Jove  restore  you,  when  your  toils  are  o'er, 
Safe  to  the  pleasures  of  your  native  shore. 
But  oh !  relieve  a  wretched  parent's  pain, 
And  give  Chryseis  to  these  arms  again  ; 
If  mercy  fail,  yet  let  my  presents  move. 
And  dread  avenging  Phoebus,  son  of  Jove." 

The  Greeks  in  shouts  their  joint  assent  declare, 
Tlie  priest  to  reverence  and  release  the  fair. 
Not  so  Atrides  :  he,  with  kingly  pride, 
Repulsed  the  sacred  sire,  and  thus  I'eplied : 

"  Hence  on  thy  life,  and  fly  these  hostile  plains. 
Nor  ask,  jjresumptuous,  what  the  king  detains  ; 
Hence,  with  thy  laurel  crown,  and  golden  rod. 
Nor  trust  too  far  those  ensigns  of  thy  god. 
Mine  is  thy  daughter,  priest,  and  shall  remain  ; 
And  jirayers,  and  tears,  and  bribes,  shall  plead  in 

vain. 
Till  time  shall  rifle  every  youthful  grace, 
And  age  dismiss  her  from  my  cold  embrace, 
In  daily  labors  of  the  loom  employed, 
Or  doomed  to  deck  the  bed  she  once  enjoyed. 
Hence  then !     To  Arp-os  shall  the  maid  retire 
Far  from  her  native  soil  and  weeping  sire." 

The  trembling  priest  along  the  shore  returned, 
And  in  the  anguish  of  a  father  mourned. 


«: 


ILIAD.  5 

Disconsolate,  not  daring  to  complain, 
Silent  he  wandered  by  the  soundmg  main : 
Till,  safe  at  distance,  to  his  god  he  prays, 
The  god  AA'ho  darts  around  the  world  his  rays. 

"  O  Smintheus  I  ^  sprung  from  fair  Latona's  hne, 
Thou  guardian  power  of  Cilia  the  divine. 
Thou  source  of  light  whom  Tenedos  adores, 
And    whose    bright    presence    gilds    thy    Chrysa's 

shores  : 
If  e'er  with  wreaths  I  hung  thy  sacred  fane, 
,0r  fed  the  flames  with  fat  of  oxen  slain ; 

od  of  the  silver  bow !  thy  shafts  employ, 
Avenge  thy  servant,  and  the  Greeks  destroy." 

Thus  Chryses  prayed.    The  favoring  power  at- 
tends. 
And  from  Olympus'  lofty  tops  descends. 
Bent  was  his  bow,  the  Grecian  hearts  to  wound  ; 
Fierce  as  he  moved,  his  silver  shafts  resound. 
Breathing  revenge,  a  sudden  night  he  spread, 
And  gloomy  darkness  rolled  around  his  head. 
The  fleet  in  view,  he  twanged  his  deadly  bow, 
And  hissing  fly  the  feathered  fates  below. 
On  mules  and  dogs  the  infection  fii'st  began. 
And  last,  the  vengeful  arrows  fixed  in  man. 
For  nine  long  nights  tlirough  all  the  dusky  air 
The  pyres,  thick-flaming,  shot  a  dismal  glai'e. 
But  ere  the  tentli  revolving  day  was  run, 
Inspired  by  Juno,  Thetis'  godlike  son 
Convened  to  council  all  the  Grecian  train  ; 
For  much  the  goddess  mourned  her  heroes  slain. 

^  Epithet  of  Apollo. 


Q  HOMER. 

The  Assembly  of  Greeks ;  the  Quarrel  of  Achilles 
and  Affamemnon. 

The  assembly  seated,  rising  o'er  the  rest, 
Achilles  thus  the  king  of  men  addressed : 

"■  Why  leave  we  not  the  fatal  Trojan  shore, 
And  measure  back  the  seas  we  crossed  before  ? 
The    plague    destroying    whom    the    sword    would 

spare, 
'T  is  time  to  save  the  few  remains  of  war. 
But  let  some  prophet  or  some  sacred  sage 
Explore  the  cause  of  great  Apollo's  rage  ; 
Or  learn  the  wasteful  vengeance  to  remove 
By  mystic  dreams,  for  dreams  descend  from  Jove. 
If  broken  vows  this  heavy  curse  have  laid, 
Let  altars  smoke,  and  hecatombs  be  paid. 
So  heaven  atoned  shall  dying  Greece  restore, 
And  Phoebus  dart  his  burning  shafts  no  more." 

He  said  and  sat :  when  Calchas  thus  replied, 
Calchas  the  wise,  the  Grecian  priest  and  guide, 
That  sacred  seer,  whose  comprehensive  view 
The  past,  the  present,  and  the  future  knew : 
Uprising  slow  the  venerable  sage 
Thus  spolve  the  prudence  and  the  fears  of  age : 

"  Beloved  of  Jove,  Achilles  !  would'st  thou  know 
Why  angry  Phoebus  bends  his  fatal  bow  ? 
First  give  thy  faith,  and  plight  a  prince's  word 
Of  sure  protection,  by  thy  power  and  sword  ; 
For  I  must  speak  what  wisdom  would  conceal, 
And  truths,  invidious  to  the  great,  reveal. 
Bold  is  the  task,  when  subjects,  grown  too  wise, 
Instruct  a  monarch  where  his  error  lies  ; 


I 


ILIAD.  7 

For  though  we  deem  the  short-lived  fury  past, 
'T  is  sure  the  mighty  will  revenge  at  last." 

To  whom  Pelides :  "  From  thy  inmost  soul 
Speak  what  thou  know'st,  and  speak  without  con- 
trol. 
Even  by  that  god  I  swear,  who  rules  the  day, 
To  whom  thy  hands  the  vows  of  Greece  convey, 
And  whose  blest  oracles  thy  lips  declare  ; 
Long  as  Achilles  breathes  this  vital  air, 
Ko  daring  Greek,  of  all  the  numerous  band. 
Against  his  priest  shall  lift  an  impious  hand  : 
Not  even  the  chief  by  whom  our  hosts  are  led, 
The  king  of  kings,  shall  touch  that  sacred  head." 

Encouraged  thus,  the  blameless  man  replies  : 
"  Nor  vows  unpaid,  nor  slighted  sacrifice, 
But  he,  our  chief,  provoked  tlie  ragiug  pest, 
Apollo's  vengeance  for  his  injured  jjriest. 
Nor  will  the  god's  awakened  fury  cease. 
But  plagues  shall  spread,  and  funeral  fires  increase, 
Till  the  great  king,  without  a  ransom  paid, 
To  her  own  Clirysa  send  the  black-eyed  maid. 
Perhaps,  witli  added  sacrifice  aud  ])i'ayer. 
The  priest  may  pardon,  and  the  god  may  spare." 

The  prophet  Spoke  ;  when,  with  a  gloomy  frown, 
The  monarch  started  from  his  shining  throne  ; 
Black  choler  filled  his  l)reast  that  boilofl  with  ire, 
And  from  liis  eyeballs  flashed  tlie  living  fire. 
"  Augur  accursed  !   donouncing  miscliicf  still. 
Prophet  of  plagues,  forever  boding  ill ! 
Still  must  that  tongue  some  wounding  message  bring, 
And  still  thy  priestly  ])ridc  ]n'ovoke  thy  king? 
For  this  are  Phcxibus'  or.iclcs  ex])lor(;(l, 


i 


8  HOMER. 

To  teach  the  Greeks  to  murmur  at  their  lord  ? 
For  this  with  falsehoods  is  my  honor  stained  ? 
Is  heaven  offended,  and  a  priest  profaned, 
Because  my  prize,  my  beauteous  maid,  I  hold, 
And  heavenly  charms  prefer  to  proffered  gold  ? 
A  maid,  unmatched  in  maimers  as  in  face. 
Skilled  in  each  art,  and  crowned  with  every  grace. 
Kot  half  so  dear  were  Clytemnestra's  charms, 
When  first  her  blooming  beauties  blessed  my  arms. 
Yet,  if  the  gods  demand  her,  let  her  sail ; 
Our  cares  are  only  for  the  public  weal  :  j 

Let  me  be  deemed  the  hateful  cause  of  all, 
And  suffer,  rather  than  my  people  fall. 
The  prize,  the  beauteous  prize,  I  will  resign, 
So  dearly  valued,  and  so  justly  mine. 
But  since  for  common  good  I  yield  the  fair, 
My  private  loss  let  grateful  Greece  repair  ; 
Nor  unrewarded  let  your  prince  comjjlain. 
That  he  alone  has  fought  and  bled  in  vain." 
"  Insatiate  king !  "  (Achilles  thus  replies) 
"  Fond  of  the  power,  but  fonder  of  the  prize  ! 
Would'st  thou  the  Greeks  their  lawful  prey  should 

yield, 
The  due  reward  of  many  a  well-fought  field  ? 
The  spoils  of  cities  razed,  and  warriors  slain. 
We  share  with  justice,  as  with  toil  we  gain : 
But  to  resume  whate'er  thy  avarice  craves, 
(That  trick  of  tyrants)  may  be  borne  by  slaves. 
Yet  if  our  chief  for  plunder  only  fight, 
The  spoils  of  Eion  shall  thy  loss  requite. 
Whene'er,  by  Jove's  decree,  our  conquering  powers 
Shall  humble  to  the  dust  her  lofty  towers." 


ILIAD.  9 

Then  thus  the  king  :   "  Shall  I  my  prize  resign 
With  tame  content,  and  thou  possessed  of  thine  ? 
Great  as  thou  art,  and  like  a  god  in  fight, 
Think  not  to  rob  me  of  a  soldier's  right. 
At  thy  demand  shall  I  restore  the  maid  ? 
First  let  the  just  equivalent  be  paid, 
Such  as  a  king  might  ask  ;  and  let  it  be 
A  treasure  worthy  her  and  worthy  nie. 
Or  grant  me  this,  or  with  a  monarch's  claim 
This  hand  shall  seize  some  other  captive  dame. 
Tlie  mighty  Ajax  shall  his  prize  resign, 
Ulysses'  spoils,  or  e'en  thy  own  be  mine. 
The  man  who  suffers,  loudly  may  complain ; 
And  rage  he  majs  but  he  shall  rage  in  vain. 
But  this  when  time  requires.     It  now  remains 
We  launch  a  bark  to  plough  the  watery  plains, 
And  waft  the  sacrifice  to  Chrysa's  shores, 
With  chosen  jiilots,  and  with  laboring  oars. 
Soon  shall  the  fair  the  sable  ship  ascend, 
And  some  deputed  prince  the  charge  attend. 
This  Greta's  king,  or  Ajax  shall  fulfill. 
Or  wise  Ulysses  see  performed  our  will ; 
Or,  if  our  royal  pleasure  shall  ordain, 
Achilles'  self  conduct  her  o'er  the  main ; 
Let  fierce  Acliilles,  dreadful  in  his  rage. 
The  god  i)ropitiate,  and  tlie  ])cst  assuage." 

At  this,  Pelides,  frowning  stern,  replied  : 
"  O  tyrant,  armed  with  insolence  and  pride  ! 
Inglorious  slave  to  interest,  ever  joined 
With  fraud,  unworthy  of  a  royal  mind  ! 
Wliat  generous  Greek,  obedient  to  thy  word, 
Sliall  form  an  anilnish,  or  shall  lift  tlie  sword? 


10  HOMER. 

What  cause  have  I  to  war  at  thy  decree  ? 

The  distant  Trojans  never  injured  nie  ; 

To  Phthia's  reahiis  no  hostile  troops  they  led  ; 

Safe  in  her  vales  my  warlike  coursers  fed  ; 

Far  hence  removed,  the  hoarse-resounding  main 

And  walls  of  rocks  secure  my  native  reign, 

Whose  fruitful  soil  luxuriant  harvests  grace, 

Rich  in  her  fruits,  and  in  her  martial  race. 

Hither  we  sailed,  a  voluntary  throng, 

To  avenge  a  private,  not  a  public  wi-ong  : 

What  else  to  Troy  the  assembled,  nations  draws, 

But  thine,  ungrateful,  and  thy  brother's  cause  ? 

Is  this  the  pay  our  blood  and  toils  deserve, 

Disgraced  and  injured  by  the  man  we  serve  ? 

And  dar'st  thou  threat  to  snatch  my  prize  away, 

Due  to  the  deeds  of  many  a  dreadful  day  ? 

A  prize  as  small,  O  tyrant !   matched  with  thine, 

As  thy  own  actions  if  compared  to  mine. 

Thine  in  each  conquest  is  the  wealthy  prey. 

Though  mine  the  sweat  and  danger  of  the  day. 

Some  trivial  present  to  ray  ships  I  bear. 

Or  barren  praises  pay  the  wounds  of  war. 

But  know,  proud  monarch,  I  'm  thy  slave  no  more : 

My  fleet  shall  waft  me  to  Thessalia's  shore. 

Left  by  Achilles  on  the  Trojan  plain. 

What  spoils,  M'hat  conquests,  shall  Atrides  gain  ?  " 

To  this  the  king  :  "  Fly,  mighty  warrior  !  fly. 
Thy  aid  we  need  not,  and  thy  threats  defy  : 
There  want  not  chiefs  in  such  a  cause  to  fight, 
And  Jove  himself  shall  guard  a  monarch's  right. 
Of  all  the  kings  (the  gods'  distinguished  care) 
To  power  sui^erior  none  such  hatred  bear; 


ILIAD.  11 

Strife  and  debate  thy  restless  soul  employ, 
And  wars  and  horrors  are  thy  savage  joy. 
If  thou  hast  strength,  't  was  Heaven  that  strength 

bestowed. 
For  know,  vain  man  !  thy  valor  is  from  God. 
Haste,  launch  thy  vessels,  fly  with  speed  away, 
Rule  thy  own  realms  with  arbitrary  sway  : 
I  heed  thee  not,  but  prize  at  equal  rate 
Thy  short-lived  friendship  and  thy  groundless  hate. 
Go,  threat  thy  earth-born  Myrmidons  ;  but  here 
'T  is  mine  to  threaten,  prince,  and  thine  to  fear- 
Know,  if  the  god  the  beauteous  dame  demand, 
My  bai'k  shall  waft  her  to  her  native  land ; 
But  then  prepare,  imperious  prince  !  prepare, 
Fierce  as  thou  art,  to  yield  thy  captive  fair : 
E'en  in  thy  tent  I  '11  seize  the  blooming  prize, 
Thy  loved  Briseis,  with  the  radiant  eyes. 
Hence  shalt  thou   prove  my  might,  and  curse  the 

hour 
Thou  stood'st  a  rival  of  imperial  power  ; 
And  hence  to  all  our  host  it  shall  be  known 
That  kings  are  subject  to  the  gods  alone." 

Achilles  heard,  with  grief  and  rage  oppressed  ; 
His  lieart  swelled  high  and  laliored  in  his  breast. 
Distracting  thoughts  by  turns  his  bosom  ruled. 
Now  fired  by  wrath,  and  now  by  reason  cooled : 
That  prompts  his  hand  to  draw  the  deadly  sword, 
Force  through  the  Greeks,  and  jiierce  their  haughty 

lord  ; 
This  whisjieis  soft  his  vengeance  to  control, 
And  calm  the  rising  tempest  of  his  soul. 


12  HOMER. 

Minerva  prevents  Achilles  from  drawing  his 

Sword. 

Just  as  in  anguish  of  suspense  he  stayed, 
While  half  unsheathed  appeared  the  ghttering  blade, 
Minerva  swift  descended  from  above, 
Sent  by  the  sister  and  the  wife  of  Jove ; 
(For  both  the  princes  claimed  her  equal  care  ;) 
Behind  she  stood,  and  by  the  golden  hair 
Achilles  seized  ;  to  him  alone  confessed  ; 
A  sable  cloud  concealed  her  from  the  rest. 
He  sees,  and  sudden  to  the  goddess  cries, 
(Known  by  the  flames  that  sparkle  from  her  eyes  :) 

"  Descends  Minerva,  in  her  guardian  care, 
A  heavenly  witness  of  the  wrongs  I  bear 
From  Atreus'  son  !     Then  let  those  eyes  that  view 
The  daring  crime,  behold  the  vengeance  too." 

"  Forbear !  "  (the  progeny  of  Jove  replies) 
"  To  calm  thy  fury  I  forsake  the  skies  : 
Let  great  Achilles,  to  the  gods  resigned, 
To  reason  yield  tlie  empire  o'er  his  mind. 
By  awful  Juno  this  command  is  given ; 
The  king  and  you  are  both  the  care  of  heaven. 
The  force  of  keen  reproaches  let  him  feel. 
But  sheathe,  obedient,  thy  revenging  steel. 
For  I  pronounce  (and  trust  a  heavenly  power) 
Thy  injured  lionor  has  its  fated  hour, 
When  the  proud  monarch  shall  thy  arms  implore, 
And  bribe  thy  friendship  with  a  boundless  store. 
Then  let  revenge  no  Jonger  bear  the  sway, 
Command  thy  passions,  and  the  gods  obey." 

To  her  Pelides  :  "  With  regardful  ear, 


ILIAD.  13 

'T  is  just,  O  goddess  !  I  thy  dictates  hear. 
Hard  as  it  is,  my  vengeance  I  suppress : 
Those  who  revere  the  gods,  the  gods  will  bless." 
He  said,  observant  of  the  blue-eyed  maid  ; 
Then  in  the  sheath  returned  the  shining  blade. 
The  goddess  swift  to  high  Olympus  flies. 
And  joins  the  sacred  senate  of  the  skies. 

Nor  yet  the  rage  his  boiling  breast  forsook, 
Which  thus  redoubling  on  Atrides  broke  : 
"  O  monster  !  mixed  of  insolence  and  fear, 
Thou  dog  in  forehead,  but  in  heart  a  deer  ! 
When  wert  thou  known  in  ambushed  fights  to  dare, 
Or  nobly  face  the  horrid  front  of  war  ? 
'T  is  ours  the  chance  of  fighting  fields  to  try, 
Thine  to  look  on,  and  bid  the  valiant  die. 
So  much  't  is  safer  through  the  camp  to  go, 
And  rob  a  subject  than  despoil  a  foe. 
Scourge  of  thy  people,  violent  and  base  ! 
Sent  in  Jove's  anger  on  a  slavish  race, 
Who,  lost  to  sense  of  generous  freedom  past, 
Are  tamed  to  wrongs,  or  this  had  been  thy  last. 
Now  by  this  sacred  sceptre  hear  me  swear. 
Which  never  more  shall  leaves  or  blossoms  bear, 
Which  severed  from  the  trunk  (as  I  fi'om  thee) 
On  the  bare  mountains  left  its  parent  tree  ; 
This  sceptre,  formed  by  tempered  steel  to  prove 
An  ensign  of  the  delegates  of  Jove. 
From  wliom  the  power  of  laws  and  justice  springs : 
TTremendous  oath  !  inviolate  to  kings  :) 
By  this  I  swear,  when  bleeding. Greece  again 
Shall  call  Achilles,  she  shall  call  in  vain. 
When  flushed  with  slaughter.  Hector  comes  to  spread 


14  HOMER. 

The  purpled  shore  with  mountains  of  the  dead, 
Then  shalt  thou  mourn  the  affront  thy  madness  gave, 
Forced  to  de2)lore,  when  impotent  to  save  : 
Then  rage  in  bitterness  of  soul  to  know 
This  act  has  made  the  bravest  Greek  thy  foe." 

He  spoke  ;  and  furious  hurled  against  the  ground 
His  scejitre  starred  with  golden  studs  ai'ound  ; 
Then  sternly  silent  sat.     With  like  disdain. 
The  raging  king  returned  his  frowns  again. 

Nestor  s  Speech. 

To  calm  their  passion  with  the  words  of  age, 
Slow  from  his  seat  arose  the  Pylian  sage, 
Experienced  Nestor,  in  persuasion  skilled  : 
Words  sweet  as  honey  from  his  lips  distilled : 
Two  generations  now  had  passed  away, 
Wise  by  his  rule,  and  happy  by  his  sway ; 
Two  ages  o'er  his  native  realm  he  reigned, 
And  now,  the  example  of  the  third,  remained. 
All  viewed  with  awe  the  venerable  man ; 
Who  thus  with  mild  benevolence  began  : 

"  What  shame,  what  woe  is  this  to  Greece  !  what 

joy 

To  Troy's  proud  monarch,  and  the  friends  of  Troy  ! 
That  adverse  gods  commit  to  stern  debate 
The  best,  the  bravest  of  the  Grecian  state. 
Young  as  you  are,  this  youthful  heat  restrain. 
Nor  think  your  Nestor's  years  and  wisdom  vain. 
A  godlike  race  of  heroes  once  I  knew. 
Such  as  no  more  these  aged  eyes  shall  view ! 
Lives  there  a  chief  to  match  Pirithous'  fame, 
Dryas  the  bold,  or  Ceneus'  deathless  name ; 


II 


I 


ILIAD.  15 

Theseus,  endued  with  more  than  mortal  might, 

Or  Polyphemus,  like  the  gods  in  fight  ? 

With  these  of  old  to  toils  of  battle  bred, 

In  early  youth  my  hardy  days  I  led  ; 

Fired  with  the  thirst  which  virtuous  envy  breeds, 

And  smit  with  love  of  honorable  deeds. 

Strongest  of  men,  they  pierced  the  mountain  boar, 

Ranged  the  wild  deserts  red  with  monsters'  gore, 

And  from  their  hills  the  shaggy  Centaurs  tore. 

Yet  these  with  soft  persuasive  arts  I  swayed  ; 

When  Nestor  spoke,  they  listened  and  obeyed. 

If  in  my  youth,  e'en  these  esteemed  me  wise, 

Do  you,  young  warriors,  hear  my  age  advise. 

Atrides,  seize  not  on  the  beauteous  slave  ; 

That  prize  the  Greeks  by  common  suffrage  gave : 

Nor  thou,  Achilles,  treat  our  prince  with  pride  ; 

Let  kings  be  just,  and  sovereign  power  preside. 

Thee  the  first  honors  of  the  war  adorn. 

Like  gods  in  strength,  and  of  a  goddess  born ; 

Him,  awful  majesty  exalts  above 

The  powers  of  earth,  and  sceptred  sons  of  Jove. 

Let  both  unite  with  well-consenting  mind, 

So  shall  authority  with  strength  be  joined. 

Leave  me,  O  king,  to  calm  Achilles'  rage ; 

Rule  thou  thyself,  as  more  advanced  in  age. 

Forbid  it,  gods  !  Achilles  should  be  lost. 

The  pride  of  Greece,  and  bulwark  of  our  host." 

This  said,  he  ceased  :  the  king  of  men  replies ; 
"  Thy  years  are  awful,  and  thy  words  are  wise. 
But  that  imperious,  that  unconquered  soul, 
No  laws  can  lunit,  no  respect  control : 
Bafore  his  pride  must  his  superiors  fall, 


16  HOMER. 

His  word  the  law,  and  he  the  lord  of  all  ? 

Him  must  our  hosts,  our  chiefs,  ourself  obey  ? 

What  king  can  bear  a  rival  in  his  sway  ? 

Grant  that  the  gods  his  matchless  force  have  given  ; 

Has  foul  reproach  a  pri\alege  fx'om  heaven  ?  " 

Here  on  tlie  monarch's  speech  Achilles  broke, 
And  furious,  thus,  and  interrupting,  spoke  : 
"  Tyrant,  I  well  deserved  thy  galling  chain. 
To  live  thy  slave,  and  still  to  serve  in  vain. 
Should  I  submit  to  each  unjust  decree  : 
Command  thy  vassals,  but  command  not  me. 
Seize  on  Briseis,  whom  the  Grecians  doomed 
My  prize  of  war,  yet  tamely  see  resumed  ; 
And  seize  secure ;  no  more  Achilles  draws 
His  conquei-ing  sword  in  any  woman's  cause. 
The  gods  command  me  to  forgive  the  past ; 
But  let  this  first  invasion  be  the  last : 
For  know,  thy  blood,  when  next  thou  dar'st  invade, 
Shall  stream  in  vengeance  on  my  reeking  blade." 

The  Assembly  breaks  up. 

At  this  they  ceased  ;  the  stern  debate  expired  : 
The  chiefs  in  sullen  majesty  retired. 

Achilles  with  Patroclus  took  his  way, 
Where  near  his  tents  his  hollow  vessels  lay. 
Meantime  Atrides  launched  with  numerous  oars 
A  well-rigged  ship  for  Chrysa's  sacred  shores  : 
High  on  the  deck  was  fair  Chryseis  placed, 
And  sage  Ulysses  with  the  conduct  graced  : 
Safe  in  her  sides  the  hecatomb  they  stowed, 
Then,  swiftly  sailing,  cut  the  liquid  road. 

The  host  to  expiate,  next  the  king  prepares. 


ILIAD.  17 

With  pure  lustrations  and  with  solemn  prayers. 
Washed  by  the  briny  wave,  the  pious  train 
Are  cleansed  ;  and  cast  the  ablutions  in  the  main. 
Alono:  the  shores  whole  hecatombs  were  laid, 
And  bulls  and  goats  to  Phoebus'  altars  paid. 
The  sable  fumes  in  curling  spires  arise, 
And  waft  their  grateful  odors  to  the  skies. 

The  army  thus  in  sacred  rites  engaged, 
Atrides  still  with  deep  resentment  raged. 
To  wait  his  will  two  sacred  heralds  stood, 
Talthybius  and  Eurybates  the  good. 

"  Haste  to  the  fierce  Achilles'  tent,"  (he  cries) 
"  Thence  bear  Briseis  as  our  royal  prize : 
Submit  he  must ;  or,  if  they  will  not  part, 
Ourself  in  arms  shall  tear  her  from  his  heart." 

The  unwilling  heralds  act  their  lord's  commands ; 
Pensive  they  walk  along  the  barren  sands : 
Arrived,  the  hero  in  his  tent  they  find, 
With  gloomy  asjject,  on  his  arm  reclined. 
At  awful  distance  long  they  silent  stand, 
Loth  to  advance,  or  speak  their  hard  command ; 
Decent  confusion  !     This  the  godlike  man 
Perceived,  and  thus  with  accent  mild  began  : 

"  With  leave  and  honor  enter  our  abodes, 
Ye  sacred  ministers  of  men  and  gods ! 
I  know  your  message ;  by  constraint  you  came  ; 
Not  you,  but  your  imperious  lord  I  blame. 
Patroclus,  haste,  the  fair  Briseis  bring  ; 
Conduct  my  captive  to  the  haughty  king. 
But  witness,  heralds,  and  proclaim  my  vow, 
Witness  to  gods  above,  and  men  below ! 
But  first,  and  loudest,  to  your  prince  declare, 


18  HOMER. 

That  lawless  tyrant  whose  commands  you  bear  ; 

Unmoved  as  death  Achilles  shall  remain, 

Though  prostrate  Greece  shall  bleed  at  every  vein : 

The  raging  chief  in  frantic  passion  lost, 

Blind  to  himself,  and  useless  to  his  host. 

Unskilled  to  judge  the  future  by  the  past, 

In  blood  and  slaughter  shall  repent  at  last." 

Patroclus  now  the  unwilling  beauty  brought ; 
She,  in  soft  sorrows,  and  in  jiensive  thought, 
Passed  silent,  as  the  heralds  held  her  hand. 
And  oft  looked  back  slow-moving  o'er  the  strand. 

Interview  of  Achilles  with  his  Goddess-Mother, 

Thetis. 

Not  so  his  loss  the  fierce  Achilles  bore  ; 
But  sad  retiring  to  the  sounding  shore, 
O'er  the  wild  margin  of  the  deep  he  hung. 
That  kindred  deep  from  which  his  mother  sprung ; 
There  bathed  in  tears  of  anger  and  disdain, 
Thus  loud  lamented  to  the  stormy  main  : 

'*  0  parent  goddess  !  since  in  early  bloom, 
Thy  son  must  fall,  by  too  severe  a  doom  ; 
Sure,  to  so  short  a  race  of  glory  born. 
Great  Jove  in  justice  should  this  sjjan  adorn. 
Honor  and  fame  at  least  the  Thunderer  owed  ; 
And  ill  he  pays  the  promise  of  a  god. 
If  yon  proud  monarch  thus  thy  son  defies, 
Obscures  my  glories,  and  resumes  my  prize." 

,  Far  in  the  deep  recesses  of  the  main. 
Where  aged  Ocean  holds  his  watery  reign. 
The  goddess-mother  heard.     The  waves  divide, 
And  like  a  mist  she  rose  above  the  tide  ; 


ILIAD.  19 

Beheld  him  mourning  on  the  naked  shores, 
And  thus  the  sorrows  of  his  soul  explores  : 

"  Why   grieves   my  son  ?    thy    anguish   let   me 
share, 
Eeveal  the  cause,  and  trust  a  parent's  care." 

He  deeply  sighing  said  :   "  To  tell  my  woe, 
Is  but  to  mention  what  too  well  you  know. 
From  Theb^,  sacred  to  Apollo's  name, 
(Eetion's  realm)  our  conquering  army  came, 
With  treasure  loaded  and  triumphant  spoils, 
Whose  just  division  crowned  the  soldier's  toils  ; 
But  bright  Chryseis,  heavenly  jirize  !  was  led 
By  vote  selected  to  the  general's  bed. 
The  priest  of  Phoebus  sought  by  gifts  to  gain 
His  beauteous  daughter  from  the  victor's  chain  ; 
The  fleet  he  reached,  and,  lowly  bending  down, 
Held  forth  the  sceptre  and  the  laurel  crown, 
Entreating  all  ;  but  chief  imj^lored  for  grace 
The  brother-kings  of  Atreus'  royal  race : 
The  generous  Greeks  their  joint  consent  declare, 
The  priest  to  reverence,  and  release  the  fair. 
Not  so,  Atrides :  he,  with  wonted  pride. 
The  sire  insulted,  and  his  gifts  denied : 
The  insulted  sire  (his  god's  peculiar  care) 
To  Phoebus  prayed,  and  Phoebus  heard  the  prayer  : 
A  dreadful  plague  ensues ;  tlie  avenging  darts 
Incessant  fly.  and  pierce  the  Grecian  hearts. 
A  prophet  then,  inspired  by  heaven,  arose. 
And  points  the  crime,  and  thence  derives  the  woes  ; 
Myself  the  first  the  assembled  chiefs  incline 
To  avert  the  vengeance  of  the  power  divine  ; 
Then,  rising  in  liis  wrath,  the  monarch  stormed ; 


20  HOMER. 

Incensed  he  threatened,  and  his  threats  performed : 
The  fan*  Chryseis  to  her  sire  was  sent, 
With  offered  gifts  to  make  the  god  relent ; 
But  now  he  seized  Briseis'  heavenly  charms, 
And  of  my  valor's  prize  defrauds  my  arms. 
Defrauds  the  votes  of  all  the  Grecian  train  ; 
And  service,  faith,  and  justice  plead  in  vain. 
But,  goddess  !  thou  thy  suppliant  son  attend, 
To  high  Olympus'  shining  court  ascend, 
Urge  all  the  ties  to  former  service  owed. 
And  sue  for  vengeance  to  the  thundering  god. 
Oft  hast  thou  triumphed  in  the  glorious  boast 
That  thou  stood'st  forth  of  all  the  ethereal  host, 
When  bold  rebellion  shook  the  realms  above, 
The  undaunted  guard  of  cloud-compelling  Jove. 
When  the  bright  pai'tner  of  his  awful  reign. 
The  warlike  maid,  and  monarch  of  the  main, 
The  traitor-gods,  by  mad  ambition  driven. 
Durst  threat  with  chains  the  onmipotence  of  heaven. 
Then  called  by  thee,  the  monster  Titan  came ; 
(Whom  gods  Briareus,  men  Y^geon  name  ;) 
Through  wondering  skies  enormous  stalked  along  ; 
Not  he  that  shakes  the  solid  earth  so  strong : 
With  giant-pride  at  Jove's  high  throne  he  stands. 
And  brandished  round  him  all  his  hundred  hands. 
The  affrighted  gods  confessed  their  awful  lord. 
They  dropped  the  fetters,  trembled  and  adored. 
This,  goddess,  this  to  his  remembrance  call. 
Embrace  his  knees,  at  his  tribunal  fall ; 
Conjure  him  far  to  drive  the  Grecian  train. 
To  hurl  them  headlong  to  their  fleet  and  main, 
To  heap  the  shores  with  copious  dead,  and  bring 


I 

I 


ILIAD.  21 

The  Greeks  to  know  the  curse  of  such  a  king : 

Let  Agamemnon  lift  his  haughty  head 

O'er  all  his  wide  dominion  of  the  dead, 

And  mourn  iii  blood  that  e'er  he  durst  disgrace 

The  boldest  warrior  of  the  Grecian  race." 

"  Unhapjjy  son  !  "  (fair  Thetis  thus  replies, 
While  tears  celestial  trickle  from  her  eyes,) 
"  Why  have  I  borne  thee  with  a  mother's  throes. 
To  fates  averse,  and  nursed  for  future  woes  ? 
So  short  a  space  the  light  of  heaven  to  view  ! 
So  short  a  space  !  and  filled  with  sorrow  too  ! 
0  might  a  parent's  careful  wish  prevail, 
Far,  far  from  Iliou  should  thy  vessels  sail, 
And  thou,  from  camps  remote,  the  danger  shun, 
Which  now,  alas  !  too  nearly  threats  my  son. 
Yet  (what  I  can)  to  move  thy  suit  I  '11  go 
To  great  Olympus  crowned  with  fleecy  snow. 
Meantime,  secure  within  thy  ships,  from  far 
Behold  the  field,  nor  mingle  in  the  war. 
The  sire  of  gods,  and  all  the  ethereal  train, 
On  the  warm  limits  of  the  farthest  main, 
Now  mix  with  mortals,  nor  disdain  to  grace 
The  feasts  of  Ethiopia' s  blameless  race  : 
Twelve  days  the  powers  indulge  the  genial  rite. 
Returning  with  the  twelfth  revolving  light. 
Then  will  I  mount  the  brazen  dome  and  move 
The  high  tribunal  of  immortal  Jove." 

The  goddess  spoke  ;  the  rolling  waves  unclose  ; 
Then  down  the  deep  she  plunged,  from  whence  she 

rose. 
And  left  him  sorrowing  on  the  lonely  coast 
In  wild  resentment  for  the  fair  he  lost. 

Alexander  Pope. 


22  HOMER. 

ILIAD,   III.,  2;;5-244. 

HELEN   ON   THE  WALLS  OF  TROY. 

Helen,  having'  pointed  out  to  Priani  the  prominent  Grecian 
chieftains  in  the  plain  below,  thus  continues  :  — 

"  Clearly  the  rest  I  behold  of  the  dark-eyed  sons 

of  Achaia ; 
Known  to  me  well  are  the  faces  of  all ;  their  names 

I  remember ; 
Two,  two  only  remain,  whom  I  see  not  among  the 

commanders, 
Castor  fleet  in   the   car,  —  Polydeukes  brave  with 

the  cestus,  — 
Own  dear  brethren  of  mine,  —  one  parent  loved  us 

as  infants. 
Are  they  not  here  in  the  host,  from  the  shores  of 

loved  Lacedaemon, 
Or,  though  they  came  with  the  rest  in  ships  that 

bound  through  the  waters. 
Dare  they  not  enter  the  fight  or  stand  in  the  coun- 
cil of  Heroes, 
All  for  fear  of  the  shame  and  the   taunts  my  crime 

has  awakened  ?  " 
So  said  she ;  —  they  long  since  in  Earth's  soft 

arms  were  reposing, 
There,  in  their  own  dear  land,   their  Fatherland, 

Lacedaemon. 

E.  C.  Hawtrey. 


ILIAD.  23 

ILIAD,   IV.,  422-456.  I 

THE  ADVANCE   OF  THE   TWO   ARMIES   INTO  ' 

THE  BATTLE. 

As  when  the  ocean-billows,  surge  on  surge, 
Are  pushed  along  to  the  resounduig  shore 

Before  the  western  whid,  and  first  a  wave  j 

Uplifts  itself,  and  then  against  the  land  I 

Dashes  and  roars,  and  round  the  headland  peaks 
Tosses  on  high  and  spouts  its  spray  afar. 
So  moved  the  serried  phalanxes  of  Greece 

To  battle,  rank  succeeding  rank,  each  chief  j 

Giving  command  to  his  own  troops  ;  the  rest  i 

Marched  noiselessly ;  you  might  have  thought  no  j 

voice  I 

Was  in  the  breasts  of  all  that  mighty  throng. 

So  silently  they  all  obeyed  their  chiefs,  j 

Their  sliowy  armor  glittering  as  they  moved 

In  firm  array.     But,  as  the  numerous  flock  , 

Of  some  rich  man,  while  the  white  milk  is  drawn  j 

Within  his  sheepfold,  hear  the  plaintive  call  \ 

Of  their  own  lambs,  and  bleat  incessantly,  i 

Such  clamors  from  the  mighty  Trojan  host 
Arose  ;  nor  was  the  war-cry  one,  nor  one 
The  voice,  but  words  of  mingled  languages, 
For  they  were  called  from  many  different  climes. 
These  Mars  encouraged  to  the  fight ;  but  those 
The  blue-eyed  Pallas.     Terror,  too,  was  there, 
And  Fright,  and  Strife  that  rages  unappeased,  — 
Sister  and  comrade  of  man-slaying  Mars,  — 
Who  rises  small  at  first,  but  grows,  and  lifts 


2-i  HOMER. 

Her  head  to  heaven  and  walks  upon  the  earth. 
She,  striding  through  the  crowd  and  heightening 
The  mutual  rancor,  flung  into  the  midst 
Contention,  source  of  bale  to  all  alike. 

And  now,  when  met  the  armies  in  the  field, 
The  ox-hide  shields  encountered,  and  the  spears, 
And    might    of    warriors    mailed   in   brass ;    then 

clashed 
The  bossy  bucklers,  and  the  battle-din 
Was  loud  ;  then  rose  the  mingled  shouts  and  groans 
Of  those  who  slew  and  those  who  fell ;  the  earth 
Ran  with  their  blood.    As  when  the  winter  streams 
Rush  down  the  mountain-sides,  and  fill,  below. 
With    their    swift    waters,    poured     from    gashing 

springs. 
Some  hollow  vale,  the  shepherd  on  the  heights 
Hears  the  far  roar,  —  such  was  the  minsled  din 
That  rose  from  the  great  armies  when  they  met. 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 

ILIAD,    VI.,  369-502. 

THE  PARTING  OF  HECTOR  AND  ANDROMACHE. 

He  said,  and  passed  with  sad  presaging  heart 
To  seek  his  spouse,  his  soul's  far  dearer  part ; 
At  home  he  sought  her,  bat  he  sought  in  vain : 
She,  with  one  maid  of  all  her  menial  train, 
Had  thence  retired  ;  and  with  her  second  joy, 
The  young  Astyanax,  the  hope  of  Troy, 
Pensive  she  stood  on  Ilion's  towery  height, 
Beheld  the  war,  and  sickened  at  the  sight: 
There  her  sad  eyes  in  vain  her  lord  explore, 
Or  weep  the  wounds  her  bleeding  country  bore. 


ILIAD^  25 

But  he  who  found  not  whom  his  soul  desired, 
Whose  virtue  charmed  him  as  her  beauty  fired, 
Stood  in  the  gates,  and  asked  what  way  she  bent 
Her  parting  steps  ;  if  to  the  fane  she  went, 
Where  late  the  mourning  matrons  made  resort ; 
Or  sought  her  sisters  in  the  Trojan  court. 
Not  to  the  court  (replied  the  attendant  train), 
Nor  mixed  with  matrons  to  Minerva's  fane : 
To  Ilion's  steepy  tower  she  bent  her  way, 
To  mark  the  fortunes  of  the  doubtful  day. 
Troy  fled,  she  heard,  before  the  Grecian  sword, 
She  heard  and  trembled  for  her  absent  lord  : 
Distracted  with  surprise,  she  seemed  to  fly, 
Fear  on  her  cheek,  and  sorrow  in  her  eye. 
The  nurse  attended  with  her  infant  boy. 
The  young  Astyanax,  the  hope  of  Troy. 

Hector,  this  heard,  returned  without  delay ; 
Swift  through  the  town  he  trod  his  former  way, 
Through  streets  of  palaces,  and  walks  of  state  ; 
And  met  the  mourner  at  the  Scaean  gate. 
With  haste  to  meet  him  sprung  the  joyful  fair, 
His  blameless  wife,  Eetion's  wealthy  heir : 
(Cilician  Thebe  great  Eetion  swayed, 
And  Hippoplacus'  wide  extended  shade  ;) 
The  nurse  stood  near,  in  whose  embraces  pressed 
His  only  hope  hung  smiling  at  her  breast, 
Whom  each  soft  charm  and  early  grace  adorn. 
Fair  as  the  new-born  star  that  gilds  the  morn. 
To  this  loved  infant  Hector  gave  the  name 
Scamandrius,  from  Scamander's  honored  stream  ; 
Astyanax  the  Trojans  called  the  boy, 
From  his  great  father,  the  defense  of  Troy. 


26  HOMER 

Silent  the  warriov  smiled,  and  pleased  resigned 
To  tender  passions  all  his  mighty  mind  : 
His  beauteous  princess  cast  a  mournful  look, 
Hung  on  his  hand,  and  then  dejected  spoke  ; 
Her  bosom  labored  with  a  boding  sigh, 
And  the  big  tear  stood  trembling  in  her  eye. 

"  Too  daring  prince  !  ah,  whither  dost  thou  run  ? 
Ah,  too  forgetful  of  thy  wife  and  son  ! 
And  think'st  thou  not  how  wretched  we  shall  be, 
A  widow  I,  a  helpless  orphan  he ! 
For  sure  such  courage  length  of  life  denies  ; 
And  thou  must  fall,  thy  virtue's  sacrifice. 
Greece  in  her  single  heroes  strove  in  vain  ; 
Now  hosts  oj^pose  thee,  and  thou  must  be  slain  ! 
Oh,  grant  me,  Gods !  ere  Hector  meets  his  doom, 
All  I  can  ask  of  heaven,  an  early  tomb  ! 
So  shall  my  days  in  one  sad  tenor  run, 
And  end  with  sorrows  as  they  first  begun. 
No  parent  now  remains  my  griefs  to  share. 
No  father's  aid,  no  mother's  tender  care. 
The  fierce  Achilles  wrapped  our  walls  in  fire, 
Laid  Thebe  waste,  and  slew  my  warlike  sire ! 
His  fate  compassion  in  the  victor  bred  ; 
Stern  as  he  was,  he  yet  revered  the  dead. 
His  radiant  arms  preserved  from  hostile  spoil 
And  laid  him  decent  on  the  funeral  pile  ; 
Then    raised    a   mountain    where    his    bones  were 

burned ; 
The  mountain  nymphs  the  rural  tomb  adorned, 
Jove's  sylvan  daughters  bade  their  elms  bestow 
A  barren  shade,  and  in  his  honor  grow. 

By  the  same  arm  my  seven  brave  brothers  fell ; 


ILIAD.  27 

In  one  sad  day  beheld  the  gates  of  hell : 
While  the  fat  herds  and  snowy  flocks  they  fed, 
Amid  their  fields  the  hapless  heroes  bled  ! 
My  mother  lived  to  bear  the  victor's  bands, 
The  queen  of  Hippoplacia's  sylvan  lands : 
Redeemed  too  late,  she  scarce  beheld  again 
Her  pleasing  empire  and  her  native  plain, 
When  ah  !  oppressed  by  life-consuming  woe. 
She  fell  a  victim  to  Diana's  bow. 

Yet,  while  my  Hector  still  survives,  I  see 
My  father,  mother,  brethren,  all,  in  thee : 
Alas !  my  parents,  brothers,  kindred,  all 
Once  more  will  perish,  if  my  Hector  fall. 
Thy  wife,  thy  infant  in  thy  danger  share : 
Oh,  prove  a  husband's  and  a  father's  care  ! 
That  quarter  most  the  skillful  Greeks  annoy, 
Where  yon  wild  fig-trees  join  the  walls  of  Troy  : 
Thou  from  this  tower  defend  the  important  post ; 
There  Agamemnon  points  his  dreadful  host, 
That  pass  Tydides,  Ajax,  strive  to  gain. 
And  there  the  vengeful  Spartan  fires  his  train. 
Thrice  our  bold  foes  the  fierce  attack  have  given, 
Or  led  by  hopes,  or  dictated  from  heaven. 
Let  others  in  the  field  their  arms  employ. 
But  stay  my  Hector  here,  and  guard  his  Troy." 

The  chief  replied  :   ''  That  post  shall  be  my  care, 
Not  that  alone,  but  all  the  works  of  war. 
How  would  the  sons  of  Troy,  in  arms  renowned, 
And  Troy's  proud  dames,  whose  garments   sweep 

the  ground. 
Attaint  the  Insti-e  of  mj-  former  name, 
Sliould  Hector  basely  quit  the  field  of  fame  ? 


28  HOMER. 

My  early  youth  was  bred  to  martial  pains, 
My  soul  impels  me  to  the  embattled  plains : 
Let  nie  be  foremost  to  defend  the  throne, 
And  guard  my  father's  glories,  and  my  own. 

Yet  come  it  will,  the  day  decreed  by  fates : 
(How  my  heart  trembles  while  my  tongue  relates  !) 
The  day  when  thou,  imperial  Troy  !   must  bend. 
And  see  thy  warriors  fall,  thy  glories  end. 
And  yet  no  dire  presage  so  wounds  my  mind, 
My  mother's  death,  the  ruin  of  my  kind. 
Not  Priam's  hoary  hairs  defiled  with  gore. 
Not  all  my  bi'others  gasping  on  the  shore  ; 
As  thine,  Andromache !  thy  griefs  I  dread  ; 
I  see  thee  trembling,  weeping,  captive  led  ! 
In  Argive  looms  our  battles  to  design, 
And  woes,  of  which  so  large  a  part  was  thine  ! 
To  bear  the  victor's  hard  commands,  or  bring 
The  weight  of  waters  from  Hyperia's  ^  spring. 
There,  while  you  groan  beneath  the  load  of  life. 
They  cry,  Behold  the  mighty  Hector's  wife  ! 
Some  haughty  Greek,  who  lives  thy  tears  to  see, 
Embitters  all  thy  woes,  by  naming  me. 
The  thoughts  of  glory  past,  and  present  shame, 
A  thousand  griefs  shall  waken  at  the  name  ! 
May  I  lie  cold  before  that  dreadful  day, 
Pressed  with  a  load  of  monumental  clay ! 
Thy  Hectoi',  wrapped  in  everlasting  sleep. 
Shall  neither  hear  thee  sigh,  nor  see  thee  weep." 

Thus  having  spoke,  the  illustrious  chief  of  Troy 
Stretched  his  fond  arms  to  clasp  the  lovely  boy. 
The  babe  clung  crying  to  his  nurse's  bi-east, 
^  A  fountain  in  Greece. 


ILIAD.  29 

Scared  at  the  dazzling  helm  and  noddhig  crest. 
With  secret  pleasure  each  fond  parent  smiled, 
And  Hector  hasted  to  relieve  his  child, 
The  glittering  terrors  from  his  brows  unbound, 
And  placed  the  beaming  helmet  on  the  ground  ; 
Then  kissed  the  child,  and,  lifting  high  in  air 
Thus  to  the  gods  preferred  a  father's  prayer  : 

"  O  thou  !  whose  glory  fills  the  ethereal  throne, 
And  all  ye  deathless  powers  !  protect  my  son  ! 
Grant  him,  like  me,  to  purchase  just  renown. 
To  guard  the  Trojans,  to  defend  the  crown, 
Against  his  country's  foes  the  war  to  wage. 
And  rise  the  Hector  of  the  future  age ! 
So  when  triumphant  from  successful  toils 
Of  heroes  slain  he  bears  the  reeking  spoils, 
Whole  hosts  may  hail  him  with  deserved  acclaim, 
And  say.  This  chief  transcends  his  father's  fame  : 
While  pleased,  amidst  the  general  shouts  of  Troy, 
His  mother's  conscious  heart  o'erflows  with  joy." 

He  spoke,  and  fondly  gazing  on  her  charms, 
Restored  the  pleasing  burden  to  her  arms  ; 
Soft  on  her  fragrant  breast  the  babe  she  laid, 
Hushed  to  repose,  and  with  a  smile  surveyed. 
The  troubled  pleasure  soon  chastised  by  fear, 
She  mingled  with  a  smile  a  tender  tear. 
The  softened  chief  with  kind  compassion  viewed. 
And  dried  the  falling  drops,  and  thus  pursued : 

"Andromache !  my  soul's  far  better  part. 
Why  with  untimely  sorrows  heaves  thy  heart  ? 
No  hostile  hand  can  antedate  my  doom, 
Till  fate  condemns  me  to  the  silent  tomb. 
Fixed  is  the  term  to  all  the  race  of  earth ; 


30  HOMER. 

And  such  the  hard  condition  of  our  birth, 
No  force  can  then  resist,  no  flight  can  save  ; 
All  sink  alike,  the  fearful  and  the  brave. 
No  more  —  but  hasten  to  thy  tasks  at  home, 
There  guide  the  spindle,  and  direct  the  loom : 
Me  glory  summons  to  the  martial  scene, 
The  field  of  combat  is  the  sphere  for  men. 
Where  heroes  war,  the  foremost  place  I  claim, 
The  first  in  danger,  as  the  first  in  fame." 

Thus  having  said,  the  glorious  chief  resumes 
His  towery  helmet,  black  with  shading  plumes. 
His  princess  parts  with  a  prophetic  sigh, 
UnwUling  parts,  and  oft  reverts  her  eye, 
That  streamed  at  every  look :  then,  moving  slow, 
Sought  her  own  palace,  and  indulged  her  woe. 
There,  while  her  tears  deplored  the  godlike  man, 
Through  all  her  train  the  soft  infection  ran. 
The  pious  maids  their  mingled  sorrows  shed. 
And  mourn  the  living  Hector,  as  the  dead. 

Pope. 

ILIAD,    Vni.,  542-565. 

THE  TROJAN  CAMP  AT  NIGHT. 

So  Hector  said,  and  sea-like  roared  his  host ; 
Then  loosed  their  sweating  horses  from  the  yoke, 
And  each  beside  his  chariot  bound  his  own ; 
And  oxen  from  the  city,  and  goodly  sheep 
In  haste  they  drove,  and  honey-hearted  wine 
And  bread  from  out  the  houses  brought,  and  heaped 
Their  firewood,  and  the  winds  from  off  the  plain 
Rolled  the  rich  vapor  far  into  the  heaven. 


ILIAD.  31 


Oi 


And  these  all  night  upon  the  bridge  of  war 
Sat  glorying ;  many  a  fire  before  them  blazed  : 
As  when  in  heaven  the  stars  about  the  moon 
Look  beautiful,  when  all  the  winds  are  laid, 
And  ev^ery  height  comes  out,  and  jutting  peak 
And  valley,  and  the  immeasurable  heavens 
Break  open  to  their  highest,  and  all  the  stars 
Shine,  and  the  Shepherd  gladdens  in  his  heart  : 
So  many  a  fire  between  the  ships  and  stream 
Of  Xanthus  blazed  before  the  towers  of  Troy, 
A  thousand  on  the  plain  ;  and  close  by  each 
Sat  fifty  in  the  blaze  of  burning  fire  : 
And  champing  golden  grain  the  horses  stood 
Hard  by  their  chariots,  waiting  for  the  dawn. 

Lord  Tennyson. 

ILIAD,     IX.,  374-426. 

ACHILLES  REFUSES  THE  GIFTS  OF  AGAMEMNON. 
I  NEVER  will  partake  his  works,  nor  counsels,  as 

before  ; 
He    once  deceived  and   injured  me,  and   he  shall 

never  more 
Tye  my  affections  with  his  words.     Enough  is  the 

increase 
Of  one  success  in  his  deceits  ;  which  let  him  joy  in 

peace. 
And  bear  it  to  a  wretched  end.     Wise  Jove  hath 

reft  his  brain 
To  bring  him  plagues,  and  these  his  gifts  I  as  my 

foes,  disdain. 
Even  in  the  numbness  of  calm  death  I  will  revenge- 
ful be, 


.31i  HOMER. 

Though  ten  or  twenty  times  so  much  he  would  be- 
stow on  me, 

All  he  hath  here,  or  anywhere,  or  Orchomen  con- 
tains, 

To  which  men  bring  their  wealth  for  strength ;  or 
all  the  store  remains 

In  circuit  of  Egyptian  Thebes,  where  much  hid 
treasure  lies. 

Whose  walls  contain  an  hundred  ports,  of  so  ad- 
mired a  size, 

Two  hundred  soldiers  may  a-front  with  horse  and 
chariots  pass. 

Nor,  would  he  amplify  all  his  like  sand,  or  dust,  or 
grass, 

Should  he  reclaim  me,  till  his  wreak  paid  me  for  all 
the  pains 

That  with  his  contumely  burned,  like  poison,  in  my 

veins.  3 

Nor  shall  his  daughter  be  my  wife,  although  she 
might  contend 

With  golden  Venus  for  her  form  ;  or  if  she  did 
transcend 

Blue-eyed  Minerva  for  her  works ;  let  him  a  Greek 
select 

Fit  for  her,  and  a  greater  king.  For  if  the  gods 
protect 

My  safety  to  my  father's  court,  he  shall  choose  me 
a  wife. 

Many  fair  Achive  princesses  of  unimpeached  life 

In  Helle  and  in  Phthia  live,  whose  sires  do  cities 
hold. 

Of  whom  I  can  have  whom  I  will.  And,  more  an 
hundredfold 


ILIAD.  33 

My  true  mind  in  my  country  likes  to  take  a  lawful 

wife  • 

Than  in  another  nation  ;   and  there  delight  my  life 
With  those  goods  that  my  father  got,  much  rather 

than  die  here. 
Not  all   the  wealth  of  well-huilt  Troy,  possessed, 

when  peace  was  there, 
All  that  Apollo's  marble  fane  in  stony  Pythos  holds, 
I  value  equal  with  the  life  that  my  free   breast  en- 
folds. 
Sheep,    oxen,  tripods,   crest-decked    horse,    though 

lost,  may  come  again. 
But  when  the  white  ojuard  of  our  teeth  no  longer 

can  contain 
Our   human    soul,  away   it   flies,  and,  once   gone, 

never  more 
To  her  frail  mansion  any  man  can  her  lost  powers 

restore. 
And  therefore    since  my  mother-queen,  famed  for 

her  silver  feet, 
Told  me  two  fates  about  my  death  in  my  direction 

meet ; 
The  one,  that,  if  I  here  remain  t'  assist  our  victory. 
My  safe   return   shall  never   live,  my  fame   shall 

never  die  ; 
If   my   return  obtain  success,   much  of  my   fame 

decays. 
But  death   shall  linger   his  approach,  and    I   live 

many  days. 
This  being  revealed,  't  were  foolish  pride  t'  abridge 

my  life  for  praise. 
Then  with  myself  I  will  advise  others  to  hoise  their 

sail, 


34  noMER. 

For  'gainst  the  height  of  Ilion  you  never  sliall  pre- 
vail : 

Jove  with   his  hand   protecteth  it,  and  makes  the 
soldiers  bold. 

This  tell  the  King  in  every  part,  for  so  grave  leg- 
ates should, 

That  they  may  better  counsels    use,  to  save  their 
fleet  and  friends 

By  their  own  valors ;  since  this  course,  drowned  in 
my  anger,  ends. 

George  Chapman. 

ILIAD,  XII.,  265-330. 

THE  VALOR  OF  THE  AJACES.  SARPEDON  AND 
GLAUCUS. 

The  Greeks  yet  stood,  and  still  repaired  the  fore- 
fights  of  their  wall 

With  hides  of  oxen,   and  from  thence  they  poured 
down  stones  in  showers 

Upon  the  underminers'  heads.     Within    the    fore- 
most towers 

Both  the  Ajaces  had  command,  who  answered  every 
part. 

The  assaulters  and  their  soldiers  repressed,  and  put 
in  heart ; 

Repaii'ing  valor  as    their  wall;    spake   some  fair, 
some  reproved, 

Whoever  made  not  good  his  place ;  and  thus  they 
all  sorts  moved : 
"  0   countrymen,  now  need  in  aid   would  have 
excess  be  spent, 


ILIAD.  35 

The  excellent  must  be  admired,  the  meanest  excel- 
lent, 

The  worst  do  well.  In  changing  war  all  should  not 
be  alike, 

Nor  any  idle ;  which  to  know  fits  aU,  lest  Hector 
strike 

Your  minds  with  frights,  as  ears  with  threats.  For- 
ward be  aU  your  hands, 

Urge  one  another.  This  doubt  down,  that  now  be- 
twixt us  stands, 

Jove  will  go  with  us  to  their  walls."  To  this  effect 
aloud 

Spake  both  the  princes ;  and  as  high,  with  this,  the 
expulsion  flowed. 

And  as  in  winter  time  when  Jove  his  cold,  sharp 
javelins  throws 

Amongst  us  mortals ;  and  is  moved  to  white  earth 
with  his  snows ; 

The  winds  asleep,  he  freely  pours,  till  highest  prom- 
inents, 

Hilltops,  low  meadows,  and  the  fields  that  crown 
with  most  contents 

The  toils  of  men,  seaports,  and  shores,  are  hid, 
and  every  place 

But  floods,  that  snow's  fair,  tender  flakes,  as  their 
own  brood,  embrace  ; 

So  both  sides  covered  earth  with  stones,  so  both  for 
life  contend, 

To  show  their  shaqmess  ;  through  the  wall  uproar 
stood  up  an  end. 

Nor  had  great  Hector  and  his  friends  the  rampire 
overrun, 


36  HOMER. 

If  heaven's  great  Counselor,  high  Jove,  had  not 

inflamed  his  son 
Sarpedon  (like  the  forest's  king  when  he  on  oxen 

flies) 
Against  the   Grecians ;  his  round  targe  he  to  his 

arm  ajjplies, 
Brass-leaved  without,  and  all  within  thick  ox-hides 

quilted  hard, 
The  verge  nailed  round  with  rods   of  gold  ;  and, 

with  two  darts  prepared. 
He  leads  his  people.     As  ye  see  a  mountain  lion 

fare. 
Long  kept  from   prey,  in  forcing  which,   his  high 

mind  makes  him  dare 
Assault  upon  the  whole  full   fold,  though  guarded 

never  so 
With  well-armed  men,  and  eager  dogs  ;  away  he 

will  not  go, 
But  venture   on  and  either  snatch  a  prey,  or  be  a 

prey  ; 
So  fared  divine  Sarpedon's  mind,  resolved  to  force 

his  way 
Through  all  the  forefights  and  the  wall ;  yet  since 

he  did  not  see 
Others  as  great  as  he  in  name,  as  great  in  mind  as 

he, 
He  spake  to  Glaucus  ;  "  Glaucus,  say,  why  are  we 

honored  more 
Than  other  men  of  Lycia,  in  place ;  with  greater 

store  % 

Of  meats  and  cups ;  with  goodlier  roofs ;  delight- 
some gardens ;  walks ; 


ILIAD.  37 

More  kinds  and  better ;  so  much  wealth,  that  court 

and  country  talks 
Of  us  and  our  possessions,  and  every  way  we  go, 
Gaze  on  us  as  we  were  their  gods  ?    This  where  we 

dwell  is  so  ; 
The  shores  of  Xanthus  ring  of  this ;  and  shall  we 

not  exceed 
As  much  in  merit  as  in  noise  ?     Come,  he  we  great 

in  deed 
As    well    as  look ;  shine  not  in  gold,    but    in    the 

flames  of  fight ; 
That  so  our  neat-armed  Lycians  may  say  :  '  See, 

these  are  right 
Our  kings,   our   rulers ;  these   deserve  to  eat  and 

drink  the  best ; 
These  govern  not  ingloriously  ;  these,  thus  exceed 

the  rest, 
Do  more  than  they  command  to  do.'     O  friend,  if 

keejiing  back 
Would  keep  back  age  from  us  and  death,  and  that 

we  might  not  wrack 
In  this  life's  human  sea  at  all,  but  that  deferring 

now 
We  shunned  death  ever,  nor  would  I  half  this  vain 

valor  show, 
Nor  glorify  a  folly  so,  to  wish  thee  to  advance  ; 
But  since  we  must  go,  though  not  here ;  and  that, 

besides  the  chance 
Proposed  now,  there  are  infinite  fates  of  other  sorts 

in  death, 
Which  neither  to  be  fled   nor  'scaped,  a  man  must 

sink  beneath  ; 


38  HOMER. 

Come,  try  we  if  this  sort  be  ours,  and  either  render 

tlius 
Glory    to    others,   or    make    them    resign  the   like 
to  us." 
This  motion  Glaucus    shifted   not,    but    without 
words  obeyed. 
Foreright  went  both,   a  mighty  troop  of  Lycians 
followed. 

Chapman. 

ILIAD,   XVI.,  638-683. 

THE  DEAD  SARPEDON    BORNE   BY   SLEEP  AND 
DEATH   TO  HIS  NATIVE  LYCIA. 

Now  great  Sarpedon  on  the  sandy  shore, 
His  heavenly  form  defaced  with  dust  and  gore, 
And  stuck  with  darts  by  warring  heroes  shed, 
Lies  undistinguished  from  the  vulgar  dead. 
His  long-disputed  corse  the  chiefs  enclose, 
On  every  side  the  busy  combat  grows ; 
Thick  as  beneath  some  shepherd's  thatched  abode, 
(The  pails  high  foaming  with  a  milky  flood,) 
The  buzzing  flies,  a  persevering  train, 
IiK!essant  swarm,  and  chased,  return  again. 

■^ove  viewed  the  combat  with  a  stern  survey. 
And  eyes  that  flashed  intolerable  day. 
Fixed  on  the  field  his  sight,  his  breast  debates 
The  vengeance  due,  and  meditates  the  fates  : 
Whether  to  urge  their  prompt  effect,  and  call 
The  force  of  Hector  to  Patroclus'  fall, 
This  instant  see  his  short-lived  trophies  won, 
And  stretch  him  breathless  on  his  slaughtered  son  ; 


■^^%Maai,Hs      '' 


Or  yet,  with  many  a  soul's  untimely  flight, 
Augment  the  fame  and  horror  of  the  fight. 
To  crown  Achilles'  valiant  friend  with  jjraise 
At  length  he  dooms  ;  and  that  his  last  of  days 
Shall  set  in  glory  ;  hids  him  drive  the  foe  ; 
Nor  unattended  see  the  shades  below. 
Then  Hector's  mind  he  fills  with  dire  dismay  ; 
He  mounts  his  car,  and  calls  his  hosts  away. 
Sunk  with  Troy's  heavy  fates,  he  sees  decline 
The  scales  of  Jove,  and  pants  with  awe  divine. 

Then,  nor  before,  the  hardy  Lycians  fled. 
And  left  tlieir  monarch  with  the  common  dead. 
Around,  in  heaps  on  heaps,  a  dreadful  wall 
Of  carnage  rises,  as  the  heroes  fall. 
(So  Jove  decreed  !)     At  length  the  Greeks  obtain 
The  prize  contested,  and  despoil  the  slain. 
The  radiaiit  arms  are  by  Patroclus  borne, 
Patroclus'  ships  the  glorious  spoils  adorn. 

Then  thus  to  Phoebus,  in  the  realms  above. 
Spoke  from  his  throne  the  cloud-compelling  Jove  ; 
"  Descend,  my  Phoebus  !  on  the  Phrygian  plain, 
And  from  the  fight  convey  Sarjjedon  slain  ; 
Then  bathe  his  body  in  the  crystal  flood  ; 
With  dust  dishonored,  and  deformed  with  blood ; 
O'er  all  his  limbs  ambrosial  odors  shed. 
And  with  celestial  robes  adorn  the  dead. 
Those  rites  discharged,  his  sacred  corse  bequeath 
To  the  soft  arms  of  silent  Sleej)  and  Death. 
They  to  his  friends  the  mournful  charge  shall  bear  ; 
His  friends  a  tomb  and  pyramid  shall  I'ear  ; 
What  honors  mortals  after  death  receive. 
Those  unavailing  honors  we  may  give  !  " 


40  HOMER. 

Apollo  bows,  and  from  mount  Ida's  height, 
Swift  to  the  field  precipitates  his  flight ; 
Tlience  from  the  war  the  breathless  hero  bore, 
Veiled  in  a  cloud,  to  silver  Simo'is'  shore  ; 
There  bathed  his  honorable  wounds,  and  dressed 
His  manly  members  in  the  immortal  vest ; 
And  with  perfumes  of  sweet  ambrosial  dews, 
Restores  his  freshness,  and  his  form  renews. 
Then  Sleep  and  Death,  two  twins  of  winged  race, 
Of  matchless  swiftness,  but  of  silent  pace. 
Received  Sarpedon,  at  the  god's  command. 
And  in  a  moment  reached  the  Lycian  land ; 
The  corse  amidst  his  weeping  friends  they  laid, 
Where  endless  honors  wait  the  sacred  shade. 

Pope. 

ILIAD,    XYII.,   420-468. 


I 


ACHILLES'   HOESES  WEEP  FOR  PATROCLUS. 
Meantime,  at  distance  from  the  scene  of  blood, 
The  pensive  steeds  of  great  Achilles  stood  ;  j 

Their  godlike  master  ^  slain  before  their  eyes. 
They  wept,  and  shared  in  human  miseries. 
In  vain  Automedon  now  shakes  the  rein, 
Now  plies  the  lash,  and  soothes  and  threats  in  vain ; 
Nor  to  the  fight,  nor  Hellespont  they  go  ; 
Restive  they  stood,  and  obstinate  in  woe : 
Still  as  a  tombstone,  never  to  be  moved. 
On  some  good  man  or  woman  unreproved, 
Lays  its  eternal  weight ;  or  fixed  as  stands 
A  marble  courser  by  the  sculptor's  hands, 

^  Patroelus,  to  whom  Achilles  had  lent  his  horses. 


ILIAD.  41 

Placed  on  the  hero's  grave.     Along  their  face 
The  big  round  drops  coursed  down  with  silent  pace 
Conglobing  on  the  dust.     Their  manes,  that  late 
Circled  their  arched  necks,  and  waved  in  state, 
Trailed  on  the  dust  beneath  the  yoke  were  spread, 
And  prone  to  earth  was  hung  their  languid  head  : 
Nor  Jove  disdained  to  cast  a  pitying  look, 
While  thus  relenting  to  the  steeds  he  spoke  : 

'•  Unhappy  coursers  of  immortal  strain  ! 
Exempt  from  age,  and  deathless  now  in  vain  ; 
Did  we  your  race  on  mortal  man  bestow, 
Only,  alas  !  to  share  in  mortal  woe  ? 
For  ah  !  what  is  there  of  inferior  birth, 
That  breathes  or  creeps  upon  the  dust  of  earth ; 
What  wretched  creature  of  what  wretched  kind, 
Than  man  more  weak,  calamitous,  and  blind  ? 
A  miserable  race  !  but  cease  to  mourn : 
For  not  by  you  shall  Priam's  son  be  borne 
High  on  the  splendid  car :  one  glorious  prize 
He  rashly  boasts  ;  the  rest  our  will  denies. 
Ourself  will  swiftness  to  your  nerves  impart, 
Ourself  Avith  rising  spirits  swell  your  heart. 
Automedon  your  rapid  flight  shall  bear 
Safe  to  the  navy  through  the  storm  of  war. 
For  yet  't  is  given  to  Troy,  to  ravage  o'er 
The  field,  and  spread  her  slaughters  to  the  shore ; 
The  sun  shall  see  her  conquer,  till  his  fall 
With  sacred  darkness  shades  the  face  of  all." 

He  said  ;  and  breathing  in  the  immortal  horse 
Excessive  spirit,  urged  them  to  the  course  ; 
From  their  high  manes  they  shake  the  dust,  and 
bear 


42                                       HOMER.  % 

The  kindling  chariot  through  the  pai-ted  war.  || 

So  flies  a  vulture  through  the  clamorous  train  ''). 

Of  geese,  that  scream,  and  scatter  round  the  plain.  | 

From  danger  now  Avitli  swiftest  speed  they  flew,  j 

And  now  to  conquest  with  like  speed  jjursue  ;  | 

Sole  in  the  seat  the  charioteer  remains,  || 
Now  plies  the  javelin,  now  directs  the  reins. 

Pope.  1 


ILIAD,   XIX.,  276-424. 

THE  RETURN   OF  ACHILLES  TO  THE  WAR. 
Briseis  mourns  the  Death  of  Patroclus. 

The  speedy  council  at  his  word  adjourned  : 
To  their  black  vessels  all  the  Greeks  returned. 
Achilles  souo-ht  his  tent.     His  train  before 
Marched  onward,  bending  with  the  gifts  they  bore. 
Those  in  the  tents  the  squires  industrious  spread ; 
The  foaming  coursers  to  the  stalls  they  led ; 
To  their  new  seats  the  female  captives  move  : 
Briseis,  radiant  as  the  Queen  of  Love, 
Slow  as  she  passed,  beheld  with  sad  survey 
Where,  gashed  with  cruel  wounds,  Patroclus  lay. 
Prone  on  the  body  fell  the  heavenly  fair. 
Beat  her  sad  breast,  and  tore  her  golden  hair  ; 
All  beautiful  in  grief,  her  humid  eyes 
Shining  with  tears,  she  lifts,  and  thus  she  cries : 

"  Ah,  youth  forever  dear,  forever  kind, 
Once  tender  friend  of  my  distracted  mind  ! 
I  left  thee  fresh  in  life,  in  beauty  gay ! 
Now  find  thee  cold,  inanimated  clay  ! 
What  woes  my  wretched  race  of  life  attend ! 


.1 


ILIAD.  43 

Sorrows  on  sorrows,  never  doomed  to  end  ! 
The  first  loved  consort  of  my  virgin-bed 
Before  these  eyes  in  fatal  battle  bled  ! 
My  three  brave  brothers  in  one  mournful  day, 
All  trod  the  dark,  irremeable  way  : 
Thy  friendly  hand  upreared  me  from  the  plain, 
And  dried  my  sorrows  for  a  husband  slain ; 
Achilles'  care  you  promised  I  should  prove, 
The  first,  the  dearest  partner  of  his  love  ; 
That  rites  divine  should  ratify  the  band, 
And  make  me  empress  in  his  native  land. 
Accept  these  grateful  tears !  for  thee  they  flow. 
For  thee,  that  ever  felt  another's  woe  !  " 

Her  sister  captives  echoed  groan  for  groan, 
Nor  mourned  Patroclus'  fortunes,  but  their  own. 
The  leaders  pressed  the  chief  on  every  side ; 
Unmoved  he  heard  them,  and  with  sighs  denied. 

"  If  yet  Achilles  have  a  friend,  whose  care 
Is  bent  to  please  him,  this  request  forbear  ; 
Till  yonder  sun  descend,  ah !  let  me  pay 
To  grief  and  anguish  one  abstemious  day." 

He  spoke,  and  from  the  warriors  turned  his  face  : 
Yet  still  the  brother-kings  of  Atreus'  race, 
Nestor,  Idomeneus,  Ulysses  sage. 
And  Phoenix,  strive  to  calm  his  grief  and  rage, 
His  rage  they  calm  not,  nor  his  grief  control ; 
He  groans,  he  raves,  he  sorrows  from  his  soul. 

"  Thou  too,  Patroclus  !  "  (thus  his  heart  he  vents) 
"  Once  spread  the  inviting  banquet  in  our  tents  : 
Thy  sweet  society,  thy  winning  care. 
Once  stayed  Achilles,  rushing  to  the  war- 
But  now,  alas  I  to  death's  cold  arms  resigned, 


44  HOMER. 

What  banquet  but  revenge  can  glad  my  mind  ? 

What  greater  sorrow  could  afflict  my  breast, 

What  more,  if  hoary  Peleus  were  deceased  ? 

Who  now,  j^erhaps,  in  Phthia  dreads  to  hear 

His  son's  sad  fate,  and  drops  a  tender  tear. 

What  more,  should  Neoptolemus  the  brave 

(My  only  offspring)  sink  into  the  grave  ? 

If  yet  that  offspring  lives  ;   (I  distant  far, 

Of  all  neglectful,  wage  a  hateful  war.) 

I  could  not  this,  this  cruel  stroke  attend  ; 

Fate  claimed  Achilles,  but  might  spare  his  friend. 

I  hoped  Patroclus  might  survive,  to  rear 

My  tender  or2)han  with  a  parent's  care. 

From  Scyros'  isle  conduct  him  o'er  the  main, 

And  glad  his  eyes  with  his  paternal  reign. 

The  lofty  palace,  and  the  large  domain. 

For  Peleus  breathes  no  more  the  vital  air ; 

Or  drags  a  wretched  life  of  age  and  care, 

But  till  the  news  of  my  sad  fate  invades 

His  hastening  soul,  and  sinks  him  to  the  shades." 

Sighing  he  said  :  his  grief  the  heroes  joined. 
Each  stole  a  tear  for  what  he  left  behind. 
Their  mingled  grief  the  sire  of  heaven  surveyed, 
And  thus  with  pity  to  his  blue-eyed  maid :  ^ 

"  Is  then  Achilles  now  no  more  thy  care, 
And  dost  thou  thus  desert  the  great  in  war  ? 
Lo,  where  yon  sails  their  canvas  Avings  extend. 
All  comfortless  he  sits,  and  wails  his  friend  : 
Ere  thirst  and  want  his  forces  have  oppressed, 
Haste  and  infuse  ambrosia  in  his  breast." 

He  spoke,  and  sudden  at  the  word  of  Jove 
^  Minerva  (Athene). 


ILIAD.  45 

Shot  the  descending  goddess  from  above. 

So  swift  through  ether  the  shrill  Harpy  springs, 

The  wide  air  floating  to  her  ample  wings. 

To  great  Achilles  she  her  flight  addressed. 

And  poured  divine  ambrosia  in  his  breast, 

With  nectar  sweet,  (refection  of  the  gods !) 

Then,  swift  ascending,  sought  the  bright  abodes. 

Now  issued  from  the  ships  the  warrior  train, 
And  like  a  deluge  poured  upon  the  plain. 
As  when  the  piercing  blasts  of  Boreas  blow. 
And  scatter  o'er  the  fields  the  driving  snow  ; 
From  dusky  clouds  the  fleecy  winter  flies. 
Whose  dazzling  lustre  whitens  all  the  skies  : 
So  helms  succeeding  helms,  so  shields  from  shields 
Catch  the  quick  beams,  and  brighten  all  the  fields  ; 
Broad  glittering  breastplates,  spears   with  pointed 

rays. 
Mix  in  one  stream,  reflecting  blaze  on  blaze  : 
Thick  beats  the  centre  as  the  coursers  bound. 
With  splendor  flame  the  skies,  and  laugh  the  fields 

around. 
Full  in  the  midst,  high-towering  o'er  the  rest. 
His  limbs  in  arms  divine  Achilles  dressed  ; 
Arms  which  the  father  of  the  fire  bestowed, 
Forged  on  the  eternal  anvils  of  the  god. 
Grief  and  revenge  his  furious  heart  inspire. 
His  glowing  eyeballs  roll  with  living  fire  ; 
He  gTinds  his  teeth,  and  furious  with  delay 
O'erlooks  the  embattled  host,  and  hopes  the  bloody 

day. 
The  silver  cuishes  first  his  tliighs  infold  ; 
Then  o'er  his  breast  was  braced  the  hollow  gold  : 


46  HOMER. 

The  brazen  sword  a  various  baldric  tied, 

Tliat,   starred  with    gems,    hung    glittering  at    his 

side  ; 
And,  like  the  moonj  the  broad  refulgent  shield 
Blazed  with  long  rays,  and   gleamed  athwart  the 
field. 
So  to  night-wandering  sailors,  pale  with  fears. 
Wide  o'er  the  watery  waste  a  light  appears. 
Which  on  the  fav-seen  mountain  blazing  high. 
Streams  from  some  lonely  watch-tower  to  the  sky : 
With  mournful  eyes  they  gaze  and  gaze  again  ; 
Loud  howls  the    storm    and  drives    them  o'er  the 
main. 
Next,  his  high  head  the  helmet  graced  ;  behind 
The  sweepy  crest  hung  floating  in  the  wind  : 
Like  the  red  star,  that  from  his  flaming  hair 
Shakes  down  diseases,  pestilence,  and  war ; 
So  streamed  the  golden  honors  from  his  head. 
Trembled  the  sparkling  plumes,  and  the  loose  glo- 
ries shed. 
The  chief  beholds  himself  with  wondering  eyes  ; 
His  arms  he  poises,  and  his  motions  tries  ; 
Buoyed  by  some  inward  force,  he  seems  to  swim. 
And  feels  a  pinion  lifting  every  limb. 

And  now  he  shakes  his  great  paternal  spear, 
Ponderous  and  huge !   which   not   a   Greek  could 

rear  : 
From  Pelion's  cloudy  top  an  ash  entire 
Old  Chiron  felled,  and  shaped  it  for  his  sire  ; 
A  spear  which  stern  Achilles  only  wields. 
The  death  of  heroes,  and  the  dread  of  fields. 


ILTAD.  47 

As  Achilles  is  about  to  enter  the  battle,  Xanthus, 
his  Horse,  addresses  kirn. 
Automedon  and  Alcimus  prepare 
The  immortal  coursers  and  the  radiant  car ; 
(The  silver  traces  sweeping  at  their  side  ;) 
Their  fiery  mouths  resplendent  bridles  tied  ; 
Tlie  ivory-studded  reins,  returned  behind, 
Waved  o'er  their  backs,  and  to  the  chariot  joined. 
The  charioteer  then  whirled  the  lash  around. 
And  swift  ascended  at  one  active  bound. 
All  bright  in  heavenly  arms,  above  his  squire, 
Achilles  mounts,  and  sets  the  field  on  fire  ; 
Not  brighter  Phoebus  in  the  ethereal  way. 
Flames  from  bis  chariot,  and  restores  the  day. 
High  o'er  the  host  all  terrible  he  stands. 
And  thunders  to  his  steeds  these  dread  commands : 
"  Xanthus  and  Balius  !  of  Podai-ges'  strain, 
(Unless  ye  boast  that  heavenly  race  in  vain) 
Be  swift,  be  mindful  of  the  load  ye  bear. 
And  learn  to  make  your  master  more  your  care. 
Through   falling  squadrons  bear  my  slaughtering 

sword, 
Nor,  as  ye  left  Patroclus,^  leave  your  lord." 
The  generous  Xanthus,  as  the  words  he  said, 
Seemed  sensible  of  woe,  and  drooped  his  head: 
Trembling  he  stood  before  the  golden  wain, 
And  bowed  to  dust  the  honors  of  his  mane. 
When,  strange  to  tell !   (so  Juno  willed)  he  broke 
Eternal  silence,  and  portentous  spoke  : 

^  Achilles  had  lent  his  liorses  to  Patroclus,  and  the  latter 
had  been  slain  in  the  fi<rht. 


48  HOMER. 

"  Achilles  !  yes  !  this  clay  at  least  we  bear, 
Thy  rage  in  safety  through  the  files  of  war  : 
But  come  it  will,  the  fatal  time  must  come, 
Nor  ours  the  fault,  but  God  decrees  thy  doom. 
Not  through  our  crime,  or  slowness  in  the  course, 
Fell  thy  Patroclus,  but  by  heavenly  force  ; 
The  bright  far-shooting  god  who  gilds  the  day, 
(Confessed  we  saw  him)  tore  his  arms  away. 
Xo :  —  could  our  swiftness  o'er  the  winds  prevail, 
Or  beat  the  pinions  of  the  western  gale, 
All  were  in  vain :  the  Fates  thy  death  demand. 

Due  to  a  mortal  and  immortal  hand." 
Then  ceased  forever,  by  the  Furies  tied. 

His  fateful  voice.     The  intrepid  chief  repHed 

With  unabated  rage  :  "  So  let  it  be  ! 

Portents  and  prodigies  are  lost  on  me. 

I  know  my  fates  :  to  die,  to  see  no  more 

My  much  loved  parents,  and  my  native  shore  — 

Enough  —  when  heaven  ordains  I  sink  in  night ; 

Now  perish  Troy !  "  he  said,  and  rushed  to  fight. 

Pope. 


ILIAD,  XXIL,  248-515. 

THE  DEATH  OF  HECTOR. 

The  Meeting  and  the  Contest. 
Now  when  the  advancing  chiefs  stood  face  to  face, 
The  crested  hero.  Hector,  thus  began  : 
"  No  longer  I  avoid  thee  as  of  late, 
O  son  of  Peleus  !     Thrice  around  the  walls 
Of  Priam's  mighty  city  have  I  fled, 


ILIAD.  49 

Nor  dared  to  wait  thy  coming.     Now  my  heart 
Bids  me  encomiter  thee  ;  my  time  is  come 
To  slay  or  to  he  slain.     Now  let  us  call 
The  gods  to  witness,  who  attest  and  guard 
The  covenants  of  men.      Should  Jove  bestow 
On  me  the  victory,  and  I  take  thy  life, 
Thou  shalt  meet  no  dishonor  at  my  hands ; 
But,  stripping  ofB  the  armor,  I  wiU  send 
The  Greeks  thy  body.     Do  the  like  by  me." 

The  swift  Achilles  answered  with  a  frown : 
''  Accursed  Hector,  never  talk  to  me 
Of  covenants.     Men  and  lions  plight  no  faith. 
Nor  wolves  agree  with  lambs,  but  each  must  plan 
Evil  against  the  other.     So  between 
Thyself  and  me  no  compact  can  exist, 
Or  understood  intent.      First,  one  of  us 
Must  fall  and  yield  his  life-blood  to  the  god 
Of  battles.      Summon  all  thy  valor  now. 
A  skillful  spearman  thou  hast  need  to  be, 
And  a  bold  warrior.     There  is  no  escape, 
For  now  doth  Pallas  doom  thee  to  be  slain 
By  my  good  spear.     Thou  shalt  repay  to  me 
The  evil  thou  hast  done  my  countrymen,  — 
My  friends   whom  thou   hast    slaughtered  in   thy 
rage." 

He  sjiake,  and,  brandishing  his  massive  spear, 
Hurled  it  at  Hector,  who  beheld  its  aim 
From  where  he  stood.     He  stooped,  and  over  him 
The  brazen  weapon  passed,  and  plunged  to  earth. 
Unseen  by  royal  Hector,  Pallas  went 
And  plucked   it  from  the  ground,  and   brought  it 
back 


50  HOMER. 

And  gave  it  to  the  hands  of  Peleus'  son, 
While  Hector  said  to  his  illustrious  foe  : 

"  Godlike  Achilles,  thou  hast  missed  thy  mark  ; 
Nor  hast  thou  learned  my  doom  from  Jupiter, 
As  thou  pretendest.     Thou  art  glib  of  tongue, 
And  cunningly  thou  orderest  tliy  speech, 
In  hope  that  I  who  hear  thee  may  forget 
My  might  and  valor.     Think  not  I  shall  flee, 
That  thou  mayst  pierce  my  back :  for  thou   shalt 

send 
Thy  spear,  if  God  permit  thee,  through  my  breast 
As  I  rush  on  thee.     Now  avoid  in  turn 
My  brazen  weapon.     Would  that  it  might  pass 
Clean  through   thee^  all  its  length !     The  tasks  of 

war 
For  us  of  Troy  were  lighter  for  thy  death, 
Thou  pest  and  deadly  foe  of  all  our  race  !  " 

He  spake,  and  brandishing  his  massive  spear, 
Hurled  it,  nor  missed,  but  in  the  centre  smote 
The  buckler  of  Pelides.     Far  away 
It  bounded  from  the  brass,  and  he  was  vexed 
To  see  that  the  swift  weapon  from  his  hand 
Had  flown  in  vain.     He  stood  perplexed  and  sad  ; 
No  second  spear  had  he.     He  called  aloud 
On  the  white-bucklered  chief,  Deiphobus, 
To  bring  another  ;  but  that  chief  was  far. 
And  Hector  saw  that  it  was  so  and  said  :  — 

"  Ah  me  !  the  gods  have  summoned  me  to  die. 
I  thought  my  warrior- friend,  Deiphobus, 
Was  by  my  side  ;  but  he  is  still  in  Troy, 
And  Pallas  has  deceived  me.     Now  my  death 
Cannot  be  far,  —  is  near ;  there  is  no  hope 


ILIAD.  51 

Of  my  escape,  for  so  it  pleases  Jove 

Aiid  Jove's  great  archer-son,  who  have  till  now 

Delivered  me.     My  hour  at  last  is  come ; 

Yet  not  ingloriously  or  passively 

I  die,  but  first  will  do  some  valiant  deed, 

Of  which  mankind  shall  hear  in  after  time." 

He  spake,  and  drew  the  keen-edged  sword  that 

hung. 
Massive  and  finely  temi^ered,  at  his  side, 
And  sprang  —  as  when  an  eagle  high  in  heaven. 
Through  the  thick  cloud,   darts   downward  to  the 

plain 
To  clutch  some  tender  lamb  or  timid  hare. 
So  Hector,  brandishing  that  keen-edged  sword, 
iSprang  forward,  while  Achilles  opposite 
Leaped  toward  him,  all  on  fire  with  savage  hate, 
And  holding  his  bright  buckler,  nobly  wrought, 
Before  him.     On  his  shining  helmet  waved 
The  fourfold  crest ;  there  tossed  the  golden  tufts 
With  which  the  hand  of  Vulcan  lavishly 
Had  decked  it.     As  in  the  still  hours  of  night 
Hesper  goes  forth  among  the  host  of  stars. 
The  fairest  light  of  heaven,  so  brightly  shone, 
Brandished  in  the  right  hand  of  Peleus'  son, 
The  spear's  keen  blade,  as,  confident  to  slay 
The  noble  Hector,  o'er  his  glorious  form 
His  quick  eye  ran,  exploring  where  to  plant 
The  surest  wound.     The  glittering  mall  of  brass 
Won  from  the  slain  Patroclus  guarded  well 
Each  part,  save  only  where  the  collar-bones 
Divide  the  shoulder  from  the  neck,  and  there 
Appeared  the  throat,  the  spot  where  life  is  most 


52  HOMER. 

In  peril.     Through  that  part  the  noble  son 
Of  Peleus  drave  his  spear  ;  it  went  quite  through 
The  tender  neck,  and  yet  the  brazen  blade 
Cleft  not  the  windpipe,  and  the  power  to  S2)eak 
Remained.     The  Trojan  fell  amid  the  dust, 
And  thus  Achilles  boasted  o'er  his  fall : 

"  Hector,  when  from  the  slain  Patroclus  thou 
Didst  strip  his  armor,  little  didst  thou  think 
Of  danger.     Thou  hadst  then  no  fear  of  me, 
Who  was  not  near  thee  to  avenge  his  death. 
Fool !  there  was  left  within  the  roomy  ships 
A  mightier  one  than  he,  who  should  come  forth, 
The  avenger  of  his  blood,  to  take  thy  life. 
Foul  dogs  and  birds  of  prey  shall  tear  thy  flesh ; 
The  Greeks  shall  honor  him  with  funeral  rites." 

And  then  the  ci'ested  Hector  faintly  said  : 
"  I  pray  thee  by  thy  life,  and  by  thy  knees. 
And  by  thy  parents,  suffer  not  the  dogs 
To  tear  me  at  the  galleys  of  the  Greeks. 
Accept  abundant  store  of  brass  and  gold. 
Which  gladly  will  my  father  and  the  queen, 
My  mother,  give  in  ransom.     Send  to  them 
My  body,  that  the  warriors  and  the  dames 
Of  Troy  may  light  for  me  the  funeral  pile." 

The  swift  Achilles  answered  with  a  frown : 
"  Nay,  by  my  knees  entreat  me  not,  thou  cur, 
Nor  by  my  parents.     I  could  even  wish 
My  fury  prompted  me  to  cut  thy  flesh 
In  fragments,  and  devour  it,  such  the  wrong 
That  I  have  had  from  thee.     There  will  be  none 
To  drive  away  the  dogs  about  thy  head, 
Not  though  thy  Trojan  friends  should  bring  to  me 


ILIAD.  53 

Tenfold  and  twentyfold  the  offered  gifts, 

And  promise  others,  —  not  though  Priam,  sprung 

From  Dardanits,  should  send  thy  weight  in  gold. 

Thy  mother  shall  not  lay  thee  on  thy  bier, 

To  sorrow  over  thee  whom  she  brought  forth ; 

But  dogs  and  birds  of  prey  shall  mangle  thee." 

And  then  the  crested  Hector,  dying,  said  : 
"  I  know  thee  and  too  clearly  I  foresaw 
I  should  not  move  thee,  for  thou  hast  a  heart 
Of  iron.     Yet  reflect  that  for  my  sake 
The  anger  of  the  gods  may  fall  on  thee, 
When  Paris  and  Apollo  strike  thee  down. 
Strong  as  thou  art,  before  the  Scaean  gates." 

Thus   Hector   sjjake,  and  straightway   o'er  him 
closed 
The  night  of  death ;  the  soul  forsook  his  limbs, 
And  flew  to  Hades,  grieving  for  its  fate, 
So  soon  divorced  from  youth  and  youthful  might. 
Then  said  the  gi'eat  Achilles  to  the  dead : 

"  Die  thou  ;  and  I,  whenever  it  shall  please 
Jove  and  the  other  gods,  will  meet  my  fate." 

He  spake,  and,  plucking  forth  his  brazen  lance. 
He  laid  it  by,  and  from  the  body  stripped 
The  bloody  mail.     The  thronging  Greeks  beheld 
With  wonder  Hector's  tall  and  stately  form, 
And  no  one  came  who  did  not  add  a  wound  ; 
And,  looking  to  each  other,  thus  they  said  : 

"  How  much  more  tamely  Hector  now  endures 
Our  touch  than  when  he  set  the  fleet  on  fire  !  " 

Such   were   the   words  of  those   who  smote   the 
dead. 
But  now,  when  swift  Achilles  from  the  corpse 


54  UOMER. 

Had  stripped  the  armor,  he  stood  forth  among 
The  Achaian  host,  and  spake  these  winged  words  : 

"  Leaders  and  princes  of  the  Grecian  host ! 
Since  we,  my  friends,  by  favor  of  the  gods, 
Have  overcome  the  chief  who  wrought  more  harm 
To  us  than  all  the  rest,  let  us  assault 
The  town,  and  learn  what  they  of  Troy  intend ;  — 
Whether  their  troops  will  leave  the  citadel 
Since  he  is  slain,  or  hold  it  with  strong  hand, 
Though  Hector  is  no  more.     But  why  give  thought 
To  plans  like  these  while  yet  Patroclus  lies 
A  corpse  unwept,  unburied,  at  the  fleet  ? 
I  never  will  forget  him  while  I  live 
And  while   these   limbs  have  motion.     Though  be- 
low 
In  Hades  they  forget  the  dead,  yet  I 
Will  there  remember  my  beloved  friend. 
Now  then,  ye  youths  of  Greece,  move  on  and  chant 
A  pjean,  while  returning  to  the  fleet, 
We  bring  great  glory  with  us  ;  we  have  slain 
The  noble  Hector,  whom,  throughout  their  town, 
The  Trojans  ever  worshiped  like  a  god." 
He  spake,  and,  planning  in  his  mind  to  treat 
The  noble  Hector  shamefully,  he  bored 
The  sinews  of  his  feet  between  the  heel 
And  ankle ;  drawing  through  them  leathern  thongs 
He  bound  them  to  the  car.  but  left  the  head 
To  trail  in  dust.      And  then  he  climbed  the  car, 
Took  in  the  shining  mail,  and  lashed  to  speed 
The  coursers.     Not  unwillingly  they  flew. 
Around  the  dead,  as  he  was  dragged  along, 
The  dust  arose  ;  his  dark  locks  swept  the  ground. 


ILIAD.  65 

That  head,  of  late  so  noble  in  men's  eyes, 
Lay  deep  amid  the  dust,  for  Jove  that  day 
Suffered  the  foes  of  Hector  to  ir;gult 
His  corse  in  his  own  land. 

Grief  of  Hecuba  and  Priam. 

His  mother  saw, 
And  tore  her  hair,  and  flung  her  lustrous  veil 
Away,  and  uttered  piercing  shrieks.     No  less 
His  father,  who  so  loved  him,  piteously 
Bewailed  him  ;  and  in  all  the  streets  of  Troy 
The  people  wept  aloud,  with  such  lament 
As  if  the  towery  Ilium  were  in  flames 
Even  to  its  loftiest  roofs.     They  scarce  could  keep 
The  aged  king  within,  who,  wild  with  grief, 
Struggled  to  rush  through  the  Dardanian  gates, 
And,  rolling  in  the  dust,  entreated  all 
"Who  stood  around  him,  calling  them  by  name : 
"  Refrain,  my  friends,  though  kind  be  your  in- 
tent. 
Let  me  go  forth  alone,  and  at  the  fleet 
Of  Greece  will  I  entreat  this  man  of  blood 
And  violence.     He  may  perchance  be  moved 
With  reverence  for  my  age,  and  pity  me 
In  my  gray  hairs ;  for  such  a  one  as  I 
Is  Peleus,  his  own  father,  by  whose  care 
This  Greek  was  reared  to  be  a  scourge  to  Troy, 
And,  more  than  all,  a  cause  of  grief  to  me. 
So  many  sons  of  mine  in  life's  fresh  prime 
Have  fallen  by  his  hand.     I  mourn  for  them, 
But  not  with  such  keen  anguish  as  I  mourn 
For  Hector.     Sorrow  for  his  death  will  bring 


56  HOMER. 

My  soul  to  Hades.     Would  that  he  had  died 
Here  in  my  arms  !  this  solace  had  been  ours,  — 
His  most  unhappy  mother  and  myself 
Had  stooped  to  shed  these  tears  upon  his  hier." 

He  spake,  and  wept,  and  all  the  citizens 
Wept  Avith  him.     Hecuha  among  the  dames 
Took  up  the  lamentation,  and  began  :  — 

"  Why  do  I  live,  my  son,  when  thou  art  dead, 
And  I  so  wretched  ?  —  thou  who  wert  my  boast 
Ever,  by  night  and  day,  where'er  I  went, 
And  whom  the  Trojan  men  and  matrons  called 
Their  bulwark,  honoring  thee  as  if  thou  wert 
A  god.     They  glory  in  thy  might  no  more, 
Since  fate  and  death  have  overtaken  thee." 
Weeping  she  spake. 

Andromache  hears  of  Hector's  Death. 

Meantime  Andromache 
Had  heard  no  tidings  of  her  husband  yet. 
No  messenger  had  even  come  to  say 
That  he  was  still  without  the  gates.     She  sat 
In  a  recess  of  those  magnificent  halls, 
And  wove  a  twofold  web  of  brilliant  hues. 
On  which  were  scattered  flowers  of  rare  device  ; 
And    she   had    given    her    bright-haired    maidens 

charge 
To  place  an  ample  caldron  on  the  fire, 
That  Hector,  coming  from  the  battlefield, 
Might  find  the  warm  bath  ready.    Thoughtless  one  ! 
She  knew  not  that  the  blue-eyed  archer-queen. 
Far  from  the  bath  prepared  for  him,  had  slain 
Her  husband  by  the  hand  of  Peleus'  son. 


ILIAD.  57 

She  heard  the  shrieks,  the  wail  upon  the  tower, 
Trembled  in  every  limb,  and  quickly  dropped 
The  shuttle,  saying  to  her  bright-haired  maids : 

"  Come  with  me,  two  of  you,  that  I  may  learn 
What  now  has  happened.     'T  is  my  mother's  voice 
That  I  have  heard.     My  heart  leaps  to  my  mouth ; 
My  limbs  fail  under  me.     Some  deadly  harm 
Hangs  over  Priam's  sons ;  far  be  the  hour 
When  I  shall  h9ar  of  it.     And  yet  I  fear 
Lest  tliat  Achilles,  having  got  between 
The  daring  Hector  and  the  city  gates. 
May  drive  him  to  the  plain  alone,  and  quell 
The  desperate  valor  that  was  ever  his  ; 
For  never  would  he  keep  the  ranks,  but  ranged 
Beyond  them,  and  gave  way  to  no  man's  might." 
She  spake,  and  from  the  royal  mansion  rushed 
Distractedly,  and  with  a  beating  heart. 
Her  maids  went  with  her.     When  she  reached  the 

tower 
And  throng  of  men,  and,  standing  on  the  wall, 
Looked  forth,  she  saw  her  husband  dragged  away 
Before  the  city.     Toward  the  Grecian  fleet 
The  swift  steeds  drew  him.    Sudden  darkness  came 
Over  her  eyes,  and  in  a  breathless  swoon 
She  sank  avvay  and  fell.     The  ornaments 
Dropped  from  her  brow,  —  the  wreath,  the  woven 

band. 
The  net,  the  veil  which  golden  Venus  gave 
That  day  when  crested  Hector  wedded  her. 
Dowered  with  large  gifts,  and  led  her  from   her 

home, 
Eetion's  palace.     Round  her  in  a  throng 


58  HOMER. 

Her  sisters  of  the  house  of  Priam  pressed, 
And  gently  raised  her  in  that  deathlike  swoon. 
But  when  she  breathed  again,  and  to  its  seat 
The  conscious  miad  returned,  as  in  their  arms 
She  lay,  with  sobs  and  broken  speech  she  said : 
"  Hector,  —  O   wretched   me  !  —  we   both   were 
born 
To  sorrow ;  thou  at  Troy,  in  Priam's  house. 
And  I  at  Thebe  in  Eetion's  halls. 
By  woody  Placos.     From  a  little  child 
He  reared  me  there,  —  unhajjpy  he,  and  I 
Unhappy !     O  that  I  had  ne'er  been  born  ! 
Thou  goest  down  to  Hades  and  the  depths 
Of  earth,  and  leavest  me  in  thine  abode, 
Widowed,  and  never  to  be  comforted. 
Thy  son,  a  speechless  babe,  to  whom  we  two 
Gave  being,  —  ha2)less  parents  !  cannot  have 
Thy  loving  guardianship  now  thou  art  dead. 
Nor  be  a  joy  to  thee.     Though  he  survive 
The  cruel  warfai-e  which  the  sons  of  Greece 
Are  waging,  hard  and  evil  yet  will  be 
His  lot  hereafter  ;  others  will  remove 
His  landmarks  and  will  make  his  fields  their  own. 
The  day  in  which  a  boy  is  fatherless 
Makes  him  companionless  ;  with  downcast  eyes 
He  wanders,  and  his  cheeks  are  stained  with  tears. 
Unfed  he  goes  where  sit  his  father's  friends. 
And  plucks  one  by  the  cloak,  and  by  the  robe 
Another.     One  who  pities  him  shall  give 
A  scanty  draught,  which  only  wets  his  lips, 
But  not  his  palate  ;    while  another  boy. 
Whose  parents  both  are  living,  thrusts  him  thence 


'J 


1 


ILIAD.  59 

With  blows  and  vulgar  clamor :    '  Get  thee  gone ! 
Thy  father  is  not  with  us  at  the  feast.' 
Then  to  his  widowed  mother  shall  return 
Astyanax  in  tears,  who  not  long  since 
Was  fed,  while  sitting  in  his  father's  lap, 
On  marrow  and  the  delicate  fat  of  lambs. 
And  ever  when  his  childish  sports  had  tired 
The  boy,  and  sleep  came  stealing  over  him, 
He  slumbered,  softly  cushioned,  on  a  couch 
And  in  his  nurse's  arms,  his  heart  at  ease 
And  satiate  with  delights.     But  now  thy  son 
Astyanax,  —  whom  so  the  Trojans  name 
Because  thy  valor  guarded  gate  and  tower,  — 
Thy  care  withdrawn,  shall  suffer  many  things. 
While  far  from  those  who  gave  thee  birth,  beside 
The  roomy  ships  of  Greece,  the  restless  worms 
Shall  make  thy  flesh  their  banquet  when  the  dogs 
Have  gorged  themselves.     Thy   garments  yet   re- 
main 
Within  the  palace,  delicately  wrought 
And  graceful,  woven  by  the  women's  hands ; 
And  these,  since  thou  shalt  put  them  on  no  more. 
Nor  wear  them  in  thy  death,  I  burn  with  fire 
Before  the  Trojan  men  and  dames  ;  and  all 
Shall  see  how  gloriously  thou  wert  arrayed." 

Weeping  she  spake,  and  with  her  wept  her  maids. 

Bryant. 


GO  HOMER. 

ILIAD,   XXIV.,  468-598. 

PRIAM   BEGS   FROM   ACHILLES   THE   BODY   OF 
HIS   SON   HECTOR. 

So  saying,  Hermes  swiftly  sought  again 
The  Olympian  heights.    Then  Priam,  to  the  ground 
Alighting,  left  Idseus  charged  to  watch 
The  steeds  and  mules,  while  right  toward  the  tent, 
Achilles'  residence,  himself  advanced. 
Him  there  he  found,  and  sitting  found  apart 
His  fellow-warriors,  of  whom  two  alone, 
Automedon  and  Alcimus  the  brave 
Attended  his  commands  ;  he  had  himself 
Supped  newly,  and  the  board  stood  unremoved. 
Unseen  of  all  huge  Priam  entered,  stood 
Before  Achilles,  clasped  his  knees  and  kissed 
Those  terrible  and  homicidal  hands. 
Which  had  destroyed  so  many  of  his  sons. 
As  when  a  fugitive  for  blood  the  house 
Of  some  chief  enters  in  a  foreign  land. 
All  gaze,  astonished  at  the  sudden  guest, 
So  gazed  Achilles  seeing  Priam  there. 
And  so  stood  all  astonished,  each  his  eyes 
In  silence  fastening  on  his  fellow's  face. 
But  Priam  kneeled,  and  suppliant  thus  began  : 
"  Think,  O  Achilles,  semblance  of  the  gods ! 
On  thy  own  father  full  of  days  like  me. 
And  trembling  on  the  gloomy  verge  of  life. 
Some  neighbor  chief,  it  may  be,  even  now 
Oppresses  him,  and  there  is  none  at  hand, 
No  friend  to  succor  him  in  his  distress. 


ILIAD.  61 

Yet,  doubtless,  hearing  that  Achilles  lives, 
He  still  rejoices,  hoping,  day  by  day, 
That  one  day  he  shall  see  the  face  again 
Of  his  own  son  from  distant  Troy  returned. 
But  me  no  comfort  cheers,  whose  bravest  sons, 
So  late  the  flower  of  Dium,  all  are  slain. 
"When  Greece  came  hither,  I  had  fifty  sons  :  — 

...  A  numerous  house  ! 
But  fiery  Mars  hath  thinned  it.     One  I  had. 
One,  more  than  all  my  sons  the  strength  of  Troy, 
Whom  standing  for  his  country  thou  hast  slain  — 
Hector.      His  body  to  redeem  I  come 
Into  Achaia's  fleet,  and  bring,  myself, 
Ransom  inestimable  to  thy  tent. 
Oh,  fear  the  gods  !  and  for  remembrance'  sake 
Of  thy  own  sire,  Achilles  !  pity  me. 
More  hapless  still ;  who  bear  what,  save  myself, 
None  ever  bore,  thus  lifting  to  my  lips 
Hands  dyed  so  deep  with  slaughter  of  my  sons." 

So  saying,  he  walcened  in  his  soul  regret 
Of  his  own  sire  ;  softly  he  placed  his  hand 
On  Priam's  hand,  and  pushed  him  gently  away. 
Remembrance  melted  both.    Stretched  prone  before 
Achilles'  feet,  the  king  his  son  bewailed, 
Wide-slaughtering  Hector ;  and  Achilles  wept 
By  turns  his  father,  and  by  turns  his  friend, 
Patroclus  ;  sounds  of  sorrow  lilled  the  tent. 
But  when  Achilles,  satisfied  at  length 
With  lamentation,  felt  his  bosom  eased 
Of  its  oppressive  charge,  and  breathed  again, 
Upstarting  from  his  seat,  with  pity  moved 
Of  Priam's  silver  locks  and  silver  beard, 


G2  noMER. 

He  raised  the  ancient  father  by  the  hand, 
Whom  in  wing'd  accents  kind  he  thus  bespake : 
"  Numerous  indeed  thy  sorrows  are  —  alas  ! 
How  could st  thou  venture  to  the  ships  alone, 
Alone  into  my  presence,  who  have  slain 
So  many  of  thy  sons  renowned  in  arms  ? 
Thou  hast  a  heart  of  iron,  terror-proof. 
Come  —  sit  beside  me.      Let  us,  if  we  may. 
Great  mom*ners  both,  bid  sorrow  sleep  awhile. 
There  is  no  profit  of  our  sighs  and  tears  ; 
For  thus,  exempt  from  care  themselves,  the  gods 
Ordain  man's  miserable  race  to  mourn. 
Fast  by  the  threshold  of  Jove's  courts  are  placed 
Two  casks,  one  stored  with  evil,  one  with  good, 
From  which  the  god  dispenses  as  he  wills. 
For  whom  the  glorious  Thunderer  mingles  both, 
His  life  is  checkered  with  alternate  good 
And  evil ;  but  to  whom  he  gives  unmixed 
The  bitter  cup,  he  makes  that  man  a  curse, 
His  name  becomes  a  byword  of  reproach. 
His  strength  is  hunger-bitten,  and  he  walks 
The  blessed  earth,  unblest,  go  where  he  may. 
So  was  my  father  Peleus  at  his  birth 
Nobly  endowed,  with  plenty  and  with  wealth 
Distinguished  by  the  gods  past  all  mankind. 
Lord  of  the  Mja-midons,  and,  though  a  man, 
Yet  matched  from  Heaven  with  an  immortal  bride. 
But  even  him  the  gods  afflict,  a  son 
Refusing  him,  who  might  possess  his  throne 
Hereafter ;  for  myself,  his  only  heir. 
Pass  as  a  dream,  and  while  I  live,  instead 
Of  solacing  his  age,  here  sit,  before 


ILIAD.  63 

Your  distant  walls,  the  scourge  of  thee  and  thine. 

Thee  also,  ancient  Priam,  we  have  heard 

Reported  once  possessor  of  such  wealth 

As  neither  Lesbos,  seat  of  Macar  owns, 

Nor  Eastern  Phrygia,  nor  yet  all  the  ports 

Of  Hellespont,  but  thou  didst  pass  them  all 

In  riches,  and  the  number  of  thy  sons. 

But  since  the  gods  first  brought  on  thy  domain 

This  woe,  hostility  and  deeds  of  blood 

Always  surround  the  city  where  thou  reign'st. 

Cease,  therefore,  from  unprofitable  tears, 

Which,  ere  they  raise  thy  son  to  life  again, 

Shall  doubtless  find  fresh  cause  for  which  to  flow." 

To  whom  the  godlike  ancient  king  replied : 
"  Urge  not,  divine  Achilles,  me  to  sit, 
Wliile  Hector  lies  unburied  in  the  camp  : 
Loose  him,  and  loose  him  now,  that  with  these  eyes 
I  may  behold  my  son  ;  accept  a  prize 
Magnificent,  which  mayst  thou  long  enjoy, 
And,  since  my  life  was  precious  in  thy  sight, 
IMayst  thou  revisit  safe  thy  native  shore  !  " 

To  whom  Achilles,  lowering,  and,  in  wrath : 
"  Move  me  no  more.     I  purpose  of  myself 
To  loose  him ;  Thetis,  daughter  of  the  Deep, 
Hath  taught  me  that  the  will  of  Jove  is  such. 
Priam  !  I  understand  thee  well.     I  know 
That,  by  some  God  conducted,  thou  hast  reached 
Achaia's  fleet ;  for,  without  aid  divine. 
No  mortal,  even  in  his  prime  of  youth. 
Had  dared  the  attempt ;  guards  vigilant  as  ours 
He  should  not  easily  elude  ;  such  gates, 
So  massy,  should  not  easily  unbar. 


64  HOMER. 

Thou,  therefore,  vex  me  not  in  my  distress, 
Lest  I  abhor  to  see  thee  in  my  tent, 
And,  borne  beyond  all  limits,  set  at  naught 
Thee  and  thy  prayer,  and  the  command  o£  Jove." 

He  said  ;  the  old  king  trembled,  and  obeyed. 
Then  sprang  Pelides  like  a  lion  forth. 
Not  sole,  but  with  his  two  attendant  friends, 
Alcimus  and  Automedon  the  brave  ; 
For  them  (Patroclus  slain)  he  honored  most 
Of  all  the  Myrmidons.     They  loosed  the  mules 
And  horses  from  the  yoke,  then  introduced 
And  placed  the  herald  of  the  hoary  king. 
They  lightened  next  the  litter  of  its  charge 
Inestimable,  leaving  yet  a  vest 
With  two  rich  robes,  that  Priam  might  convey 
The  body  not  uncovered  back  to  Troy. 
Then,  calling  forth  his  women,  them  he  bade 
Lave  and  anoint  the  body,  but  apart, 
Lest  haply  Pi'iam,  noticing  his  son. 
Through   stress   of   grief   should    give    resentment 

scope, 
And  irritate  by  some  affront  himself 
To  slay  him  in  despite  of  Jove's  commands. 
They,  therefore,  laving  and  anointing  first 
The  body,  clothed  it  with  a  robe  and  vest ; 
Then,  Peleus'  son  disposed  it  on  the  bier. 
Lifting  it  from  the  ground,  and  his  two  friends 
Together  heaved  it  to  the  royal  wain. 

William  Cowper. 

M 


ODYSSEY,  I,  319-365. 

PENELOPE  AND  THE  MINSTREL. 

Soox  as  Athene  spoke  the  word, 
She  took  the  likeness  of  a  bird, 

And,  skyward  soaring,  fled. 
The  counsels  of  the  heavenly  guest 
Within  Telemachus's  breast 

New  strength  and  spirit  bred. 

His  absent  father  to  his  thought 
Was  by  his  wakened  memory  brought 

More  freshly  than  of  old  : 
But  when  Athene's  flight  he  saw, 
A  feeling  deep  of  reverend  awe 

His  inmost  heart  conti'olled. 

He  knew  the  stranger  was  a  god ; 
And  hastening  to  his  own  abode, 

He  joined  the  suitor  train. 
A  far-famed  minstrel  in  the  hall 
Sang  to  the  peers,  who  listened  all 

In  silence  to  his  strain. 

As  subject  of  his  lay  he  chose 
The  mournful  story  of  the  woes 
Borne  by  the  Achaaan  host, 


Q6  HOMER. 

When,  under  Pallas'  vengeful  wrath, 
Homeward  returning  was  their  path 
Bent  from  the  Trojan  coast. 

The  song  Icarius'  daughter  ^  heard, 
And  put  together  every  word 

As  from  below  it  came  ; 
Straight  did  she  from  her  bower  repair 
And  hastened  down  the  lofty  stair, 

That  great,  wisehearted  dame. 

Alone  she  went  not  —  in  her  train 
She  took  with  her  handmaidens  twain  ; 

And  when  the  peerless  queen 
Came  where  the  suitors  sate,  aloof 
Close  by  a  post  that  propped  the  roof, 

She  stood  with  face  unseen. 

A  veil  concealed  her  cheeks  from  view, 
And  by  each  side  a  handmaid  true 

In  seemly  order  stood  ; 
With  tears  fast  bursting  from  her  eyne. 
Addressing  thus  the  bard  divine. 

She  her  discourse  pursued  : 

"  Phemius  !  for  men's  delight  thy  tongue 
Can  many  another  flowing  song 

In  soothing  measure  frame  ; 
Can  tell  of  many  a  deed,  which  done 
By  god  or  man  in  days  bygone, 
Bards  have  consigned  to  fame. 
^  Penelope,  wife  of  the  absent  Ulysses. 


ODYSSEY.  67 

"  Choose  one  of  these,  and  all  around, 
Silent  will  hear  the  dulcet  sound, 

E'en  as  they  drink  their  wine  ; 
But  cease  that  melancholy  lay 
That  Avears  my  very  heart  away  — 

A  heavy  woe  is  mine  ! 

"  How  can  I  check  the  tide  of  grief, 
Remembering  still  that  far-famed  chief, 

Whose  fame  all  Hellas  fills  ?  " 
Answered  her  son,  "  O  mother  mine ! 
Why  dost  thou  blame  the  bard  divine, 

For  singing  as  he  wills  ? 

"  Blame  not  the  poet  —  blame  to  Heaven, 
Which  to  poor  .struggling  men  has  given 

What  weight  of  woe  it  chose. 
How  can  we  charge  the  bard  with  wrong, 
If  the  sad  burden  of  his  song 

Turns  on  the  Danaan  woes  ? 

"  Men,  ever  with  delighted  ear, 
The  newest  song  desire  to  hear  ; 

Then  firmly  to  the  strain 
Listen,  which  tells  of  perils  done ; 
My  sire  is  not  the  only  one 
Who  of  the  chiefs  to  Ilion  gone 

Has  not  returned  again. 

"  For  many,  to  that  fatal  shore 
Who  sailed  away,  came  back  no  more  ; 
Thy  business  is  at  home, 


68  HOMER. 

Thy  servant-maidens  to  command, 
And  Illy  with  an  industrious  hand, 
The  distaff  and  the  loom. 

"  To  men  the  guiding  power  must  be. 
At  all  times  in  these  halls  to  me  ; 

For  here  my  will  is  law." 
The  queen  went  homeward  as  he  bade, 
And  felt  the  words  her  son  had  said 

Inspire  her  soul  with  awe. 

Soon  did  she,  with  her  handmaids  twain, 
Her  lofty  seated  chamber  gain. 

And  there,  with  many  a  tear. 
Until  Athene  came  to  steep 
Her  weary  lids  in  balmy  sleep. 
Right  sorrowfully  did  she  weep 

Her  absent  husband  dear  ; 

While,  seated  still  at  festival, 

The  suitors  in  the  dusky  hall 

Reveled  with  noisy  cheer. 

William  Maginn. 

ODYSSEY,  IV.,  121-230. 

HELEN  AT  THE  BANQUET. 

From  her  perfumed  chamber  wending, 

Did  the  high-born  Helen  go  ; 
Artemis  she  seemed  descending. 

Lady  of  the  golden  bow ; 
Then  Adrasta,  bent  on  duty, 

Placed  for  her  the  regal  chair ; 


i 


ODYSSEY.  69 

Carpet  for  the  feet  of  beauty- 
Spread  Alcippe  soft  and  fair. 

Phylo  came  the  basket  holding, 

Present  of  Alcandra's  hand  ; 
Fashioned  was  its  silver  moulding 

In  old  Egypt's  wealthy  land  ; 
She,  in  famous  Thebe  living. 

Was  of  Poly  bus  the  spouse, 
He  with  soul  of  generous  giving 

Shared  the  wealth  that  stored  his  house. 

Ten  gold  talents  from  his  coffer, 

Lavers  twain  of  silver  wrought, 
With  two  tripods  as  his  offer. 

Had  he  to  Atrides  brought ; 
While  his  lady  came  bestowing 

Gifts  to  Helen  rich  of  price. 
Gave  a  distaff,  golden,  glowing. 

Gave  this  work  of  rare  device. 

Shaped  was  it  in  fashion  rounded, 

All  of  silver  but  the  brim. 
Where  by  skillful  hand  't  was  bounded, 

With  a  golden-guarded  rim. 
Now  to  Helen  Phylo  bore  it. 

Of  its  well-spun  labor  full, 
And  the  distaff  laid  she  o'er  it, 

Wrapped  in  violet-tinted  wool. 

Throned,  then,  and  thus  attended, 
Helena  the  king  addressed  : 


70  HOMER. 

"  Menelaus,  Jove-descended, 

Kiiow'st  thou  who  is  here  thy  guest  ? 
Shall  I  tell  thee,  as  I  ponder, 

What  I  think,  oi"  false  or  true  ; 
Gazing  now  with  eyes  of  wonder 

On  the  stranger  whom  I  view  ? 

"  Shape  of  male  or  female  creature, 

Like  to  bold  Odysseus'  son  ; 
Young  Telemachus  in  feature, 

As  this  youth  I  seen  have  none. 
From  the  boy  his  sire  departed, 

And  to  Dion's  coast  he  came. 
When  to  valiant  war  ye  started,  ■ 

All  for  me  —  a  thing  of  shame." 

And  Atrides  spake,  replying, 

"  Lady,  so  I  think  as  thou. 
Such  the  glance  from  eyeball  flying,  , 

Such  his  hands,  his  feet,  his  brow ;  i 

Such  the  locks  his  forehead  gracing :  | 

And  I  marked  how  as  I  told 
Of  Odysseus'  deeds  retracing,  ; 

Down  his  cheek  the  tear-drop  rolled,  J 


*'  While  he  wiped  the  current  straying 

With  his  robe  of  purple  hue."  4 

Nestor's  son  then  answered,  saying, — 

"  What  thou  speakest,  king,  is  true. 
He  who  at  thy  board  is  sitting 

Is  of  wise  Odysseus  sprung  ; 
Modest  thoughts,  his  age  befitting. 

Hitherto  have  stilled  his  tongue. 


ODYSSEY.  71 

"  To  address  thee  could  he  venture, 
While  thy  wuinuig  accents  flowed, 
In  our  ravished  ears  to  enter, 

As  if  uttered  by  a  god  ! 
At  Gerenian  Nestor's  sending 

Comes  beneath  my  guidance  he, 
In  the  hope  thy  well  intending 
To  his  guest  of  help  may  be. 

Many  a  son  feels  sorrow  try  him 

Wliile  his  sire  is  far  away, 
And  no  faithful  comrade  by  him, 

In  his  danger  prop  or  stay. 
So,  my  friend,  now  vainly  sighing 

O'er  his  father  absent  long, 
Finds  no  hand,  on  which  relying, 

He  may  meet  attempted  wrong." 

Kindly  Menelaus  spake  him. 

Praised  his  sire  in  grateful  strain, 
Told  his  wliilom  hope  to  take  him 

As  a  partner  in  his  reign  ; 
All  were  softened  at  his  telling 

Of  the  days  now  past  and  gone ; 
Wejit  Telemachus,  wept  Helen, 

Fell  the  tears  from  Nestor's  son. 

Gushing  came  they  for  his  brother, 

Slain  by  Dawn-born  Memnon's  sword  ; 

But  his  grief  he  strove  to  smother. 
As  unfit  for  festal  board. 

Ceased  the  tears  for  woe  and  slaughter, 
And  again  began  the  feast : 


72  HOMER. 

Round  Asphalion  bore  the  water, 
Tendered  to  each  noble  guest.-' 

Then  to  banish  gloomy  thinking, 

Helen  on  gay  fancy  bent, 
In  the  wine  her  friends  were  drinking, 

Flung  a  famed  medicament : 
Grief-dispelling,  wrath-restraining, 

Sweet  oblivion  of  all  woe  ; 
He  the  bowl  thus  tempered  draining 

Ne'er  might  feel  a  tear  to  flow. 


&* 


No,  not  e'en  if  she  who  bore  him 

And  his  sire  in  death  were  laid  ; 
Were  his  brother  slain  before  him. 

Or  his  son  with  gory  blade. 
In  such  drugs  was  Helen  knowing  ; 

Egypt  had  supplied  her  skill. 
Where  these  potent  herbs  are  growing. 

Some  for  good  and  some  for  ill. 

Maginn. 

ODYSSEY,  v.,  55-75. 

HERMES  ARRIVES  AT  CALYPSO'S  GROTTO. 

And  now  arriving  at  the  isle,  he  springs 
Oblique,  and  landing  with  subsided  wings 
Walks  to  the  cavern  'mid  the  tall  green  rocks. 
Where  dwelt  the  goddess  with  the  lovely  locks. 

^  The  translator  has  condensed  into  the  two  preceding 
stan/.as  the  substance  of  the  lines  from  168  to  218.  He  re- 
Biimes  at  219. 


ODYSSEY.  73 

He  paused ;  and  there  came  on  him  as  he  stood 

A  smell  of  cedar  and  of  citron  wood, 

That  threw  a  perfume  all  about  the  isle  ; 

And  she  within  sat  spinning  all  the  while, 

And  sang  a  low  sweet  song  that  made  him  hark 

and  smile. 
A  sylvan  nook  it  was,  grown  round  with  trees, 
Poplars,  and  elms,  and  odorous  cypresses, 
In  which  all  birds  of  ample  wing,  the  owl 
And  hawk  had  nests,  and  broad-tongued  waterfowl. 
The  cave  in  front  was  spread  with  a  green  vine, 
Whose  dark  round  bunches  almost  burst  with  wine  ; 
And  fi'om  four  springs,  running  a  sprightly  race. 
Four  fountains  clear  and  crisp  refreshed  the  place  ; 
While  all  about  a  meadowy  gi'ound  was  seen, 
Of  violets  mingling  with  the  parsley  green. 
So  that  a  stranger,  though  a  god  were  he, 
Might  well  admire  it,  and  stand  there  to  see ; 
And  so  admiring  there  stood  Mercury. 

Leigh  Hunt. 

ODYSSEY,  VII.,  81-132. 

THE  PALACE  AND  GARDENS  OF  KING  ALCINOUa 

•  ••••••••, 

Odysseus  to  Alcinoiis'  halls  paced  on, 
And  in  his  breast  his  stormy  heai't  beat  fast. 
He  pausing,  ere  his  feet  the  brazen  threshold  passed. 

For,  like  the  sun's  fire  or  the  moon's,  a  light 
Far  streaming  through  the  high-roofed  house  did 
pass 


74  HOMER. 

From  the  long  basement  to  the  topmost  height. 
There  on  each  side  ran  walls  of  flaming  brass, 
Zoned  on  the  summit  with  a  blue  bright  mass 
Of  cornice  ;  and  the  doors  were  framed  of   gold  ; 
Where,  underneath,  the  brazen  floor  doth  glass 
Silver  pilasters,  which  with  grace  u])hold 
Lintel  of  silver  framed  ;  the  ring  was  burnished  gold. 

And  dogs  on  each  side  of  the  doors  there  stand, 
Silver  and  gold,  the  which  in  ancient  day 
Hephaestus  wrought  with  cunning  brain  and  hand, 
And  set  for  sentinels  to  hold  the  way. 
Death  camiot  tame  them,  nor  the  years  decay. 
And  from  the  shining  threshold  thrones  were  set, 
Skirting  the  walls  in  lustrous  long  array, 
On  to  the  far  room,  where  the  women  met, 
With  many  a  rich  robe  strewn  and  woven  coverlet. 

There  the  Phseacian  chieftains  eat  and  drink, 
Wliile  golden  youths  on  pedestals  upbear 
Each  in  his  outstretched  hand  a  lighted  link, 
Which  nightly  on  the  royal  feast  doth  flare. 
And  in  the  house  are  fifty  handmaids  fair  ; 
Some  in  the  mill  the  yellow  corn  grind  small ; 
Some  ply   the  looms,  and  shuttles  twirl,  which 

there 
Flash  like  the  quivering  leaves  of  aspen  tall ; 
And  from  the  close-spun  weft  the  trickling  oil  will 
faU. 

For  as  Phaeacian  men  surpass  in  skill 

All  mortals  that  in  Earth's  wide  kingdoms  dwell 


ODYSSEY.  75 

Through  the  waste  ocean,  wheresoe'er  they  will, 
The  cleaving  keel  obedient  to  impel  — 
So  far  their  women  at  the  loom  excel ; 
Suice  all  brave  handiwork  and  mental  grace 
Pallas  Athene  gave  them  to  know  well. 
Outside  the  courtyard  stretched  a  planted  space 
Of  orchard,  and  a  fence  environed  all  the  place. 

There  in  full  prime  the  orchard-trees  grow  tall, 
Sweet  fig,  pomegranate,  apple  fruited  fair, 
Pear  and  the  healthful  olive.     Each  and  all 
Both    summer    droughts    and    chills    of   winter 

spare ; 
All  the  year  round  they  flourish.     Some  the  air 
Of  Zephyr  warms  to  life,  some  doth  mature. 
Apple  grows  old  on  apple,  pear  on  pear. 
Fig  follows  fig,  vintage  doth  vintage  lure  ; 
Thus  the  rich  revolution  doth  for  aye  endure. 

With  well-sunned  floor  for  drying,  there  is  seen 
The  vineyard.     Here  the  grapes  they  cull,  there 

tread. 
Here  falls  the  blossom  from  the  clusters  green  ; 
There  the  first  blushings  by  the  suns  are  shed. 
Last,  flowers  forever  fadeless  —  bed  by  bed  ; 
Two  streams  ;  one  waters  the  whole  garden  fair ; 
One  through  the   courtyard,  near  the   house,  is 

led; 
Whereto  with  pitchers  all  the  folk  repair. 
All  these  the  god-sent  gifts  to  king  Alcinous  were. 

Philip  Stanhope  Worsley. 


76  HOMER. 

ODYSSEY,  IX.,  80-104. 

THE  LOTUS-EATERS. 

Now  me  the  current  and  fell  Boreas  whirled, 
Doubling  Malea's  cape,  and  far  astray 
Beyond  the  rude  cliffs  of  Cythera  hurled. 
So  for  nine  days  along  the  watery  way, 
Teeming  with  monsters,  me  the  winds  affray 
And  with  destruction  ever  seem  to  whelm : 
But,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  tenth  day, 
We   reached,    borne    downward   with   an    easy 
helm. 
Land  of  the  flowery  food,  the  Lotus-eating  realm. 

Anon  we  step  forth  on  the  dear  mainland. 

And    draw   fresh  water    from  the  springs,  and 

there. 
Seated  at  ease  along  the  silent  strand, 
Not  far  from  the  swift  ships  our  meal  prepare. 
Soon  having  tasted  of  the  welcome  fare, 
I  with  the  herald  brave  companions  twain 
Sent  to  explore  what  manner  of  men  they  were, 
Who,  on   the    green  earth    couched    beside   the 

main, 
Seemed  ever  with  sweet  food  their  lips  to  entertain. 

Who,  when  they  came  on  the  delightful  place 
Where  those  sat  feeding  by  the  barren  wave, 
There  mingled  with  the  Lotus-eating  race  ; 
Who  naught  of  ruin  for  our  comrades  brave 
Dreamed  in  their  minds,  but  of  the  Lotus  gave  ; 


ODYSSEY.  77 

And  whoso  tasted  of  then'  flowery  meat 
Cared  not  with  tidings  to  return,  but  clave 
Fast  to  that  tribe,  forever  fain  to  eat. 
Reckless  of  home-return,  the  tender  Lotus  sweet. 

Those  sorely  weeping  by  main  strength  we  bore 
Back  to  the  hollow  ships  with  all  our  speed, 
And   thrust   them   bound   with  cords    upon  the 

floor. 
Under  the  benches  :  then  the  rest  I  lead 
On  board  and  bid  them  to  the  work  give  heed, 
Lest  others,  eating  of  the  Lotus,  yearn 
Always  to  linger  in  that  land,  and  feed, 
Careless  forever  of  the  home-return  : 
Then,  bending  to  the  oars,  the  foamy  deep  they 

spurn. 

Worsley. 

ODYSSEY,    X.,  203-243. 

CIRCE  TRANSFORMS    THE    COMPANIONS    OF 
ULYSSES  INTO  SWINE. 

Then  in  two  bands  I  numbered  all  my  train, 
Each  with  its  chief.     One  to  myself  I  took  : 
One  did  to  fair  Eurylochus  pertain. 
Then  we  the  lots  in  steely  helmet  shook. 
And  his  leapt  forth  ;  nor  he  the  work  forsook, 
But  passed  with  twain-and-twenty  ranged  around, 
Weeping ;  we  after  them  yearned  many  a  look 
Weeping.    So  in  the  woods  the  house  tliey  found 
Of   Circe,    stone    well-hewn,    and    on    conspicuous 
ground. 


78  HOMER. 

Wolves  of  the  mountain  all  around  the  way, 
And  lions,  softened  by  the  spells  divine, 
As  each  her  philters  had  jjartaken,  lay. 
These  cluster  round  the  men's  advancing  line 
Fawning  like  dogs,  who,  when  their  lord  doth 

dine, 
Wait  till  he  issues  from  the  banquet-hall. 
And  for  the  choice  gifts  which  his  hands  assign 
Fawn,   for   he    ne'er   forgets    them  —  so    these 

all 
Fawn  on  our  friends,  whom  much  the  unwonted 

sights  appall. 

Soon  at  her  vestibule  they  pause,  and  hear 

A  voice  of  singing  from  a  lovely  place, 

Where    Circe  weaves    her    great    web    year   by 

year. 
So  shining,  slender,  and  instinct  with  grace. 
As  weave  the  daughters  of  immortal  race. 
Then  said  Polites,  nearest,  first  in  worth 
Of  all  my  friends  :  "  Hark !  through  the  echoing 

space 
Floats  a  sweet  music  charming  air  and  earth  ! 
Call !  for  some  goddess   bright  or  woman  gave  it 

birth." 

Thus  spake  he,  and  they  lifted  up  their  voice 
And  called  her.     She  the  brilliant  doors  anon 
Unfolding  bade  them  in  her  halls  rejoice  ; 
Who  entered  in  not  knowino;,  save  alone 
Eurylochus,  misdoubting  fraud.     Full  soon 


ODYSSEY.  79 

Benches  and  chairs  in  fair  array  she  set, 
And  mixing  meal  and  honey,  poured  thereon 
Strong  Pramnian  wine,  and  with  the  food  they 
ate 
Beat  up  her  baleful  drugs,  to  make  them  quite  for- 
get 

Their  country.     They  receiving  drank,  unwise. 
Forth^vith  she  smote  them  with  her  wand  divine, 
And    drave  them   out,   and  shut  them   close  in 

styes, 
Where  they  the  head,  voice,  form,  and  hair  of 

swine 
Took,  but  the  heart  stayed  sane,  as  ere  the  wine 
Confused  them  ;  they  thus  to  their  lairs  retreat ; 
She  food,  whereon  the  brutish  herd  might  dme. 
Furnished,  mast,  acorns,  their  familiar  meat. 
Such  as  earth-groveling  swine  are  ever  wont  to  eat. 

[Now  Euryloclms,  alone  escaping'  the  charra,  returned  to 
the  ship.  Then  Ulysses  must  needs  himself  go  to  Circe  if 
perchance  he  might  deliver  his  comrades.  And  as  he  walked 
by  the  way,  the  god  Hermes  meeting  him  gave  him  the 
plant  Moly  ^  to  he  his  help ;  and  coming  to  Circe's  house  he 
so  prevailed  with  her  that  she  restored  his  companions  to 
their  proper  shape.] 

X.,  388-427. 
I  ended.     Forthwith  Circe,  wand  in  hand. 
Moved  from  the  hall,  and  opening  wide  the  stye 
Forth  drave  them  :  who  before  the  goddess  stand 

^  See  note. 


80  nOMER. 

Like    swine    nine-seasoned.     She,    approaching 

nigh, 
Smeared  over  each  a  different  drug,  whereby 
The  hairs  dropped  from  them  which  the  former 

bane 
Had  nurtured,  and  like  men  in  majesty 
To  their  old  semblance  they  returned  again, 
But  with  new  beauty  dowered,  a  taller,  younger 

train. 

Also  they  knew  me  and  clasped  eagerly 
My  hand,  and  happy  lamentation  rose 
Of  voices  yearning  as  in  agony, 
TiU  the  wide  arches  seemed  to  ring  with  woes. 
She  then  herself,  with  pity  pierced,  bestows 
These  words  :  "  Divine  Odysseus,  hasten  hence  ! 
Fu'st  draw  thy  bai'k  aground,  and  deep  inclose 
In  the  sea-caves  thy  tackling,  and  dispense 
Safely  thy  goods,  then    bring  thy  loyal  comrades 
thence." 

So  spake  she,  and  my  manly  heart  obeyed  ; 
And  to  the  ship  descending  and  the  shore 
I  found  my  friends,  with  miseries  o'erweighed, 
Shedding  the  frequent  tear-drop  evermore. 
As  when  a  sort  of  country  calves  doth  pour 
Thick  round  their  grass-filled  mothers,  and  with 

blare 
Of  welcome  urge  their  eager  pastime,  nor 
Can  the  close  fences  round  about  their  lair 
Confine  them,  stung  with  joy,  still  leaping  here  and 
there,  — 


ODYSSEY.  81 

So  when    these    saw   me    with   their   eyes,  they 

pressed 
Not  without  tears  around  me,  and  their  blood 
Stirred  with  such  pulses  in  their  yearning  breast 
As  on  the  much-desired  sweet  earth  they  stood 
Of  Ithaca's  rough  island  crowned  with  wood, 
Their  countrj'^-home,  where  they  were  born  and 

bred. 
Mourning  they  spake  :  "  At  thy  return  such  mood 
We  feel,  as  far  from  sorrows  we  had  sped 
To  Ithaca :  but  haste,  inform  us  of  oui"  dead  !  " 

I  in  soft  words  made  answer  :  "  From  the  waves 
First  hale  we  to  the  sandy  continent 
Our  bark,  and  shelter  in  the  chambered  cave 
For  all  our  wealth  and  naval  arms  invent. 
Thence  unto  Circe's  halls  magnificent 
Move  in  my  train,  that  ye  your  friends  may  find 
Eating  and  drinking,  who  nowise  repent 
Their  sojourn,  such  good  cheer  is  there  assigned  ; 
Plenty  untold  they  reap  and   all  things    to  their 
mind." 

Worsley. 

ODYSSEY,  XL,  385^56. 

ULYSSES,  VISITING  THE  LOWER  WORLD,  HEARS 
FROM  AGAMEMNON  THE  STORY  OF  HIS  DEATH. 

Afterward,  soon  as  the  chaste  Persephone  hither 

and  thither 
Now  had  scattered  afar  the  slender  shades  of  the 

women. 


82  HOMER. 

Came  the  sorrowing  ghost  of  Agamemnon  Atreides  ; 
Round  whom   thronged,  besides,  the  souls  of  the 

others  who  also 
Died,  and  met  their  fate,  with  him  in  the  house  of 

Aigisthos. 
He,  then,  after  he  drank  of  the  dark  blood,  instantly 

knew  me  ; 
Ay,  and  he  wailed  aloud,  and  plenteous  tears  was 

shedding, 
Toward  me  reaching  hands  and  eagerly  longing  to 

touch  me ; 
But  he  was  shorn  of  strength,  nor  longer  came  at 

his  bidding 
That  great  force  which    once  abode  in    his  pliant 

members. 
Seeing  him  thus,  I  wept,  and  my  heart  was  laden 

with  pity. 
And,  uplifting   my  voice,  in  winged    words  I  ad- 
dressed him  : 
"  King  of  men,  Agamemnon,  thou  glorious  son  of 

Atreus, 
Say  in  what  wise  did  the  doom  of  prostrate  death 

overcome  thee  ? 
Was  it   within    thy    ships    thou   wast    subdued  by 

Poseidon 
Rousing  the  dreadful  blast  of  winds  too  hard  to  be 

mastered. 
Or  on  the  firm-set  land  did  banded  foemen  destroy 

thee 
Cutting  their  oxen  off,  and  their  flocks  so  fair,  or  it 

may  be, 
While  in  a  town's  defense,  or  in  that  of  women,  con- 
tending ?  " 


ODYSSEY.  83 

Thus    I    spake,    and    he,    replying,    said   to    me 

straightway  : 
"  Nobly-bovn  and  wise  Odysseus,  son  of  Laertes, 
Neither  within  my  sliips  was  I  subdued  by  Poseidon 
Rousing  the  dreadful  blast  of  winds  too  hard  to  be 

mastered. 
Nor  on  the  firm-set  land  did  banded  foemen  destroy 

me ; 
Nay,  but  death  and  my  doom  were  well  contrived 

by  Aigisthos, 
Who,  with  my  cursed  wife,  at  his  own  house  bid- 
ding me  welcome. 
Fed  me,  and  slew  me,  as  one  might  slay  an  ox  at 

the  manger  ! 
So,  by  a  death  most  wretched,  I  died  ;  and  all  my 

companions 
Round  me  were  slain  off-hand,  like  white-toothed 

swine  that  are  slaughtered 
Thus,  when  some  lordly  man,  abounding  in  power 

and  riches. 
Orders    a   wedding-feast,    or    a    frolic,  or   mighty 

carousal. 
Thou  indeed  hast  witnessed  the  slaughter  of  num- 
berless heroes 
Massacred,  one  by  one,  in  the    battle's  heat ;  but 

with  pity 
All  thy  heart  had  been  full,  if  thou  hadst  seen  what 

I  tell  thee,  — 
Pow  in  the  hall  we  lay  among   the  wine-jars,  and 

under 
Tables  laden  with  food  ;  and  how  the  pavement,  on 

all  sides, 


84 


HOMER. 


Swam  with  blood !     And  I  heard  the  dolorous  cry 

of  Kassandra, 
Priam's  daughter,  whom  treacherous  Klytaimnestra 
anear  me 

Slew ;  and  upon  the    ground   I  fell   in  my  death- 
throes,  vainly 

Reaching  out  hands  to  my  sword,  while  the  shame- 
less woman  departed ; 

Nor  did  she  even  stay  to  press  her  hands  on  my 
eyelids, 

No,  nor  to  close  my  mouth,  although  I  was  passing 
to  Hades. 

Oh,  there  is  naught  more  dire,  more  insolent  than  a 
woman 

After  the  very  thought  of  deeds  like  these  has  pos- 
sessed her,  — 

One   who  would  dare  to  devise  an  act   so  utterly 
shameless, 

Lying  in  wait  to  slay  her  wedded  lord.     I  bethought 
me, 

Verily,  home  to  my  children  and  servants  giving 
me  welcome 

Safe  to  return  ;    but  she  has  wrought  for  herself 
confusion. 

Plotting  these  grievous  woes,  and  for  other  women 
hereafter. 

Even  for  those,   in   sooth,  whose  thoughts  are  set 
upon  goodness." 
Thus  he  spake,  and  I,  in  turn  replying,  addressed 
him  : 

"  Heavens !  how  from  the  first  has  Zeus  the  thun- 
derer  hated, 


ODYSSEY.  85 

All  for  the  women's  wiles,  the   brood  of  Atreus  ! 

What  numbers 
Perished  in  quest  of  Helen,  —  and  Klytaimnestra, 

the  meanwhile, 
Wrought  in  her  soul  this  guile  for  thee  afar  on  thy 

journey." 
Thus    I    spake,    and   he,   replying,    said    to   me 

straightway  : 
"  See  that  thou  art  not,  then,  Hke  me  too  mild  to 

thy  heljjmeet ; 
Nor  to   her    ear   reveal   each    secret   matter   thou 

knowest ; 
TeU  her  the  part,  forsooth,  and  see    that  the  rest 

shall  be  hidden. 
Nathless,  not  unto   thee   will   come  such   murder, 

Odysseus, 
Dealt  by  a  wife  ;  for  wise  indeed,  and  true  in  her 

purpose. 
Noble  Penelope  is,  the  child  of  Tkarios.     Truly, 
She  it  was  whom  we  left,  a  fair  young  bride,  when 

we  started 
Off  for  the  wars  ;  and  then  an    infant  lay  at  her 

bosom. 
One  who  now,  methinks,  in  the  list  of  men  must  be 

seated, 
Blest  indeed  !  ah,  yes,  for  his  well-loved  father,  re- 
turning. 
Him  shall  behold,  and  the  son  shall  clasp  the  sire, 

as  is  fitting. 
Not  unto  me  to  feast  my  eyes  with  the  sight  of  my 

offspring 
Granted  the  wife  of  my  bosom,  but  first  of  life  she 

bereft  me. 


86  HOMER. 

Therefore  I  say,  moreover,  and  charge  thee  well  to 

remember. 
Unto  thine  own  dear  land  steer  thou  thy  vessel  in 

secret. 
Not  in   the   light  ;  since    faith    can    be    placed    in 


woman  no  longer." 


Edmund  C.  Stedman. 


ODYSSEY,  XL,  582-600. 

THE  PUNISHMENT  OF  TANTALUS  AND  SISYPHUS. 

There  also  Tantalus  in  anguish  stood. 
Plunged  in  the  stream  of  a  translucent  lake ; 
And  to  his  chin  welled  ever  the  cold  flood. 
But  when  he  rushed,  in  fierce  desire  to  break 
His  torment,  not  one  drop  could  he  partake. 
For  as  the  old  man  stooping  seems  to  meet 
That  water  with  his  fiery  lips  and  slake 
The  frenzy  of  wild  thirst,  around  his  feet. 
Leaving  the  dark  earth  dry,  the  shuddering  waves 
retreat. 


Also  the  thick-leaved  arches  overhead 
Fruit  of  all  savor  in  profusion  flung. 
And  in  his  clasp  rich  clusters  seemed  to  shed. 
There  citrons  waved,  with  shining  fruitage  hung. 
Pears  and  pomegranates,  olive  ever  young 
And  the  sweet-mellowing  fig  :  but  whensoe'er 
The  old  man,  fain  to  cool  his  burning  tongue. 
Clutched  with  his  fingers  at  the  branches  fair, 
Came  a  strong  wind  and    whirled   them  skyward 
through  the  air. 


ODYSSEY.  •  -..  87 

And  I  saw  Sisyphus  in  travail  strdiig-^,  Qf3ij, 
Shove  with  both  hands  a  mighty  sphere  of  stone. 
With  feet  and  sinewy  wrists  he  laboring  long 
Just  pushed  the  vast  globe  up,  with  many  a  groan  ; 
But  when  he   thought   the    huge   mass   to   have 

thrown 
Clean  o'er  the  summit,  the  enormous  weight 
Back  to  the  nether  plain  rolled  tumbling  down. 
He,  straining,  the  great  toil  resumed,  while  sweat 
Bathed  each  laborious  limb,  and  the  brows  smoked 

with  heat. 

Worsley. 

ODYSSEY,  XX.,6fr-78. 
THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  PANDARUS. 

And  so  these  daughters  fair  of  Pandarus, 

The  whirlwinds  took.     The    gods  had   slain  their 

kin; 
They  were  left  orphans  in  their  father's  house. 
And  Aphrodite  came  to  comfort  them 
With  incense,  luscious  honey,  and  fragrant  wine  ; 
And  Here  gave  them  beauty  of  face  and  soul 
Beyond  all  women  ;  purest  Artemis 
Endowed  them  with  her  stature  and  white  grace  ; 
And  Pallas  taught  their  hands  to  flash  along 
Her  famous  looms.     Then,  bright  with  deity, 
Toward  far  Olympus,  Aphrodite  went 
To  ask  of  Zeus  (who  has  his  thunder-joys 
And  his  full  knowledge  of  man's  mingled  fate) 
How  best  to  crown  those  other  gifts  with  love 
And  worthy  marriage  :  but,  what  time  she  went, 


88  HOMER. 

The  ravishing  Harpies  snatched  the  maids  away, 
And  gave  them  up,  for  all  their  loving  eyes. 
To  serve  the  Furies  who  hate  constantly. 

Mrs.  Browning. 

ODYSSEY,  XXII.,  1-389. 

THE  SLAYING  OF  THE  SUITORS. 

Ulysses  on  his  return  to  Ithaca  makes  his  first  appearance 
in  the  disguise  of  a  beggar,  in  order  the  better  to  form  his 
plans  —  revealing  himself  only  to  his  son  and  a  trusty  ser- 
vant. When  all  is  ready  he  suddenly  throws  off  his  disguise 
and  makes  himself  known  to  the  astonished  suitors. 

Stript  of  his  rags  then  leapt  the  godlike  king 
On  the  great  threshold,  in  his  hand  the  bow 
And  quiver,  filled  with  arrows  of  mortal  sting. 
These  with  a  rattle  he  rained  down  below, 
Loose  at  his  feet,  and  spake  among  them  so  : 

"  See,  at  the  last  our  matchless  bout  is  o'er  ! 
Now  for  another  mark,  that  I  may  know 
If  I  can  hit  what  none  hath  hit  before, 

And  if  Apollo  hear  me  in  the  prayers  I  pour  !  " 

Thus  did  he  speak,  and  aimed  a  bitter  dart 
Against  Antinoiis.     He  the  beauteous  cup. 
Twin-eared  and  golden,  carved  with  curious  art, 
Was  lifting  in  his  hands  and  tilting  up 
Close  to  his  red  lips,  the  sweet  wine  to  sup. 
And  in  his  mind  of  murder  held  no  care. 
Who  could  believe,  'mid  feast  and  flowing  cup, 
One  of  a  crowd,  though  he  far  mightier  were, 
Would  for  a  guest  black  fate  and  evil  death  pre- 
pare ? 


ODYSSEY.  89 


Him  with  an  arrow  in  his  thi-oat  the  king 

Shot.     Through  his  delicate  neck  the  barh  made 

way. 
He,  falling  backward,  made  the  pavement  ring, 
Down  clanged  the  cup,  and  where  it  clanged  it 

lay. 
And,  ere  a  man  could  wonder  or  gainsay. 
Blood  from  the  nostrils  the  wide  floor  imbrued. 
He  in  a  moment  wildly  kicked  away 
The  table  with  both  feet,  and  spilt  the  food. 
And  all  the  place  with  bread  and  broken  flesh  was 

strewed. 

And  now,  behold,  the  suitors  a  dire  clang 
Stirred  in  the  palace,  when  they  marked  him  fall, 
And  from  the  benches  and  the  chairs  they  sprang, 
Pale  and  aghast  within  the  shadowy  hall. 
Peering  about  in  teiTor  from  wall  to  wall. 
Nor,  as  they  looked,  could  they  discern  within 
Spear,  sword,  nor  shield,  nor  any  arms  at  all. 
Scared  as  from  sleep,  and  with  a  troublous  din, 
They  to  divine  Odysseus  wrathful  words  begin  : 

"  Stranger,  not  well  thou  doest  to  aim  at  men. 
These  are  thy  last  lists ;  thou  shalt  surely  die. 
See,  by  thy  hand  the  bravest  of  our  men, 
Flower  of  all  Ithaca,  doth  murdered  lie. 
Thy  bones  the  vultures  shall  pick  by  and  by." 
But  each  held  back,  averring  that  he  slew 
By  chance  the  man.     How  fatal  and  how  nigh 
Death's  snares  were  set,  they  foolish  never  knew  ! 

Whom  the  king  sternly  eyed,  and  to  the  godless 
crew : 


90  HOMER. 

"  Dogs,  ye  denied  that  I  should  e'er  come  back 
From  Troia's  people  to  my  native  land. 
Long  in  your  pride  my  house  ye  rend  and  wrack, 
Yea,  and  ye  force  the  women  with  violent  hand, 
And  my  wife  claim  while  I  on  earth  yet  stand, 
Nor  fear  the  gods  who  rule  in  the  wide  sky, 
Nor  lest  a  mortal  on  the  earth  demand 
Your  price  of  guilt  —  and  ye  are  like  to  die  ! 
Round  you  death's  fatal  toils  inextricably  lie." 

He  ceased,  and  all  were  taken  with  pale  fear, 
Peering  about  in  terroi-,  if  they  might  flee 
Black  doom  and  ruin  and  destruction  sheer. 
Then  spake  Eurymachus,  and  only  he : 
"  If  thou  the  Ithacan  Odysseus  be. 
Now  home  returning  to  thy  native  land, 
Well  hast  thou  spoken  :  For  I  know  that  we 
Oft  in  thy  town  and  fields  with  violent  hand. 
And   here    within   thy  mansion,    have    much    evil 
planned. 

"  But  now  behold  he  lieth  dead,  the  cause 
Of  all  our  crime,  Antinoiis.      He  alone 
Urged  us  to  drink  and  revel  and  break  the  laws  — 
He  in  his  heart,  it  is  a  thing  well  known. 
Caring  far  less  to  make  thy  wife  his  own 
Than  for  a  scheme,  which  Zeus  doth  bring  to 

naught, 
That  here  the  king's  line  might  be  overthrown  ; 
Yea,  for  thy  child  a  secret  snare  he  wrought. 

And  for  himself  in  Ithaca  the  kingdom  sought. 


ODYSSEY.  91 

"  Now  hath  he  fallen  by  the  doom  of  fate. 
But  spare  thy  people  who  in  after  day 
Swear  in  this  country  on  thy  will  to  wait, 
And  in  thy  palace  the  whole  price  to  pay 
Of  all  things  drunk  and  eaten,  and  to  lay 
Each  one  before  thy  feet  fines  worth  a  score 
Of  oxen,  brass,  and  gold,  whate'er  we  may, 
Till  thy  heart  warms  to  view  the  countless  store. 

Keason  enough  thou  hast  to  feel  enraged  before." 

Him  wise  Odysseus  sternly  eyed,  and  spake : 
"  Eurymachus,  though  ye  the  whole  restore. 
And  all  your  own  wealth  and  your  fathers'  take, 
And  the  earth  ransack  till  ye  add  much  more. 
Never  these  hands  shall  the  dire  work  give  o'er 
Ere  your  flown  pride  is  to  the  full  repaid. 
Choose  now  to  fight,  or  if  ye  list  explore 
Some  byway,  if  escape  may  yet  be  made. 
But,  as  I  think,  Death's  toUs  no  longer  ye  evade." 

Then  quailed  their  knees   and  heart,  and  thus 

again 
Eurymachus  spake  forth  :   "  O  friends,  the  man 
Will  not  give  over  till  we  all  are  slain. 
Quick  draw  your  knives,  and  pile  up  as  ye  can 
Tables  to  cover  us.     It  were  best  we  ran 
All  in  close  volley  against  him,  firm  to  try 
And  thrust  him  by  the  strength  of  all  our  clan 
Down  from  the  doors,  and  stir  a  public  cry. 
Then  quickly  his  last  arrow  will  the  man  let  fly." 


92  HOMER. 

Then  lie  his  knife  drew,  and  with  terrible  cry 
Sprang  toward   the   king;  who,   aiming   at   the 

breast, 
Hard  by  the  nipple,  let  the  arrow  fly  ; 
And  in  his  liver  the  keen  barb  found  rest. 
Dropped  from  his  hand  the  knife.    He  with  prone 

chest 
Fell  hke  a  ruin,  and  threw  down  the  meat 
And  the  rich  wine-cup.     His  tall  forehead's  crest 
Knocked  on  the  earth,  he  rattling  with  both  feet 
The  throne,  and  on  his  eyes  the  darkling  death-rain 

beat. 

Then  rushed  Amphinomus  onward  with  drawn 

knife. 
To  thrust  Odysseus  from  the  doors,  but  lo  ! 
First  with  the  spear  Telemachus  reft  his  life, 
And  'twixt  the  shoulders  made  the  iron  go 
Clean  through  the  lungs :  and  with  a  clang  the 

foe 
Knocked  with  his  forehead  on  the  earth.     Back 

pressed 
Telemachus,  the  long  spear  leaving  so. 
Lest,  from  the  wound  when  he  the  spear  would 

wrest. 
One  cut  him  down  unwares,  or  stab  him  breast  to 

breast. 


And  lo,  the  suitors  their  sharp  spears  once  more 
Hurled  ;  but  Athene  sent  the  most  part  wide. 


ODYSSEY.  93 

One  hit  the  pillar,  and  one  hit  the  door, 
And  one  fell  heavy  on  the  wall  aside. 
Nathless  Amphimedon  with  blood  just  dyed 
Skin  of  the  wrist  of  brave  Odysseus'  son. 
Ctesippus,  hurling  o'er  the  tough  buU's-hide, 
Smote  on  the  swineherd's  shoulder  —  so  passed  on 
The  dart,  and  flew  beyond  him,  and  to  earth  fell 
down. 

Then  did  Odysseus  and  his  friends  renew 
Their  hurling,  and  among  the  crowd  shot  thus, — 
Stormer  of  towns,  the  brave  Odysseus,  slew 
Eurydamas  ;  and  young  Telemachus, 
Amphimedon  ;  the  swineherd,  Polybus  ; 
The  herdsman  hit  Ctesippus  in  the  breast. 
And  cried :   *'  No  longer  vaunt  and  fleer  at  us, 
But  let  the  gods  speak,  who  are  far  the  best. 
This  for  the  foot  thou  gavest  to  the  suppliant  guest." 

Also  in  close  fight  with  his  spear  the  king 
Tore  Agelaus  ;  the  young  prince  his  spear 
Drave  through  Leiocritus.     He  ruining 
Clanged  with  his  forehead.  •   And  Athene  there 
Waved  her  man-murdering  aegis  in  the  air. 
Then,  scared  in  spirit,  through  the  hall  they  fled. 
As  when  the  gadfly  in  the  spring  of  the  year, 
When  the  days  lengthen,  'mid  the  kine    makes 
head. 
And  stings  them  into  fury  where  at  peace  they  fed. 

And  as  when  eagles,  curven-beaked  and  strong, 
Fly  from  the  hills  and  the  fleet  birds  assail ; 


94  UOMER. 

These  in  the  low  plain  flit  and  cower  along, 
Pounced  on  with  f  my,  nor  can  flight  avail 
Nor  courage,  while  good  sport  the  fowlers  hail  — 
So  'mid  the  suitors  hovering  evermore, 
Turning  ahout  they  smite  them,  and  deal  bale. 
Direly  the  heads  crashed,  and  a  hideous  roar 
Sounded  forever,    and  still  the  bubbling  earth  ran 
gore. 


Meanwhile  the  king  pried  busily  to  and  fro, 
Lest  one  alive  yet  lurk,  avoiding  bale. 
And  all  he  found  in  bloody  dust  laid  low. 
Strewn,  like  dumb  fishes  on  the  sandy  graile, 
Whom  from  the  hoary  deep  the  fishers  hale 
In  many-windowed  net.     They  on  dry  land. 
Sick  for  the  sea,  gasp  dying  ;  nor  doth  fail 
Fierce  noon  to  kill  them  on  the  burning  sand  — 
Thus  lay  the  slain  men  heaped  by  his  victorious 
hand. 

Worsley. 

ODYSSEY,   XXIII.,  302-343. 

ULYSSES  TELLS  HIS  STORY  TO  PENELOPE. 
She  told  him  of  the  scorn  and  wrong 

She  long  had  suffered  in  her  house, 
From  the  detested  suitor  throng, 

Each  wooing  her  to  be  his  spouse. 
How,  for  their  feasts,  her  sheep  and  kine 
Were  slaughtered,  while  they  quaffed  her  wine 

In  plentiful  carouse. 


ODYSSEY.  95 

And  he,  the  noble  wanderer,  spoke 

Of  many  a  deed  of  peril  sore  — 
Of  men  who  fell  beneath  his  stroke  — 

Of  all  the  sorrowing-  tasks  he  bore. 
She  listened,  with  delighted  ear, 
Sleep  never  came  her  eyehds  near 

Till  all  the  tale  was  o'er. 

First  told  he  how  the  Cicones 

He  had  subdued  with  valiant  hand, 

And  how  he  reached,  across  the  seas. 
The  Lotus-eaters'  lovely  land  ; 

The  crimes  by  Polyphemus  done, 

And  of  the  well-earned  vengeance  won. 
For  slaughter  of  his  band. 

Vengeance  for  gallant  comrades  slain, 
And  by  the  Cyclops  made  a  prey  ; 

And  how  it  was  his  lot  to  gain 

The  isle  where  tEoIus  holds  sway ; 

And  how  the  Monarch  of  the  wind 

Received  him  with  a  welcome  kind, 
And  would  have  sent  away. 

Home  to  his  native  isle  to  sail ; 

But  vainly  against  fate  he  strove, 
By  whom  unrousod  a  desperate  gale 

Over  the  fishy  ocean  drove. 
And  sent  him  wandering  once  again, 
The  toils  and  dangers  of  the  main 

With  many  a  groan  to  prove. 


96  HOMER. 

And  how  he  wandered  to  the  coast 
Where  dwells  the  distant  Lsestrygon ; 

How  there  his  ships  and  friends  he  lost, 
Escaping  in  his  bark  alone  ; 

He  spoke  of  Circe's  magic  guile, 

And  told  the  art  and  deep-skilled  wile 
By  the  enchantress  shown. 

Then  how  to  Hades'  grisly  hall 
He  went  to  seek  the  Theban  seer, 

In  his  swift  ship  ;  how  there  with  all 
The  partners  of  his  long  career 

He  met ;  and  how  his  mother  mild 

Who  bore,  and  reared  him  from  a  child, 
He  saw  while  wandering  there. 

And  how  the  dangerous  strain  he  heard, 
Sung  by  the  Sirens'  thrilling  tongue  ; 

And  how  with  dexterous  skill  he  steered 
His  course  the  justling  rocks  among  ; 

How  he, what  none  had  done  before, 

Unscathed  through  dread  Charybdis  bore, 
And  Scylla  sailed  along. 

And  how  the  oxen  of  the  sun 

With  impious  hand  his  comrades  slew  ; 
And  how  high-thundering  Jove  upon 

Their  flying  bark  his  lightning  threw, 
Till  by  the  bolt,  of  life  bereft, 
Perished  his  friends,  he  only  left 

Remaining  of  the  crew. 


ODYSSEY.  97 

And  how,  in  the  Ogj'gian  isle, 

He  visited  Calypso  fair ; 
And  how  she  sought  with  many  a  wile, 

To  keep  him  still  sojourning  there : 
With  fond  desu-e  't  was  hers  to  crave, 
That  he,  within  her  hollow  cave. 

Her  nuptial  bed  should  share. 

Each  hospitable  art  she  tried. 

His  heart  to  win  —  his  hopes  to  soothe ; 
She  promised  him,  were  she  his  bride, 

Immortal  life  and  ceaseless  youth. 
But  all  her  promise,  all  her  art, 
Changed  not  the  temper  of  his  heart, 

Nor  shook  his  steadfast  truth. 

How,  after  many  a  year  of  toil. 

When  on  Phaeacian  land  he  trod. 
The  king  and  people  of  the  isle 

Hailed  him  with  honors  of  a  god  ; 
And  sent  him  full  of  presents  fair, 

Of  gold,  and  brass,  and  garments  rare, 

Back  to  his  own  abode. 

So  closed  the  tale.     Then  balmy  sleep, 

The  healer  of  all  human  woes, 
Did  their  relaxing  members  steep 

In  soft  oblivion  of  repose. 

Maginn. 


HOMERIC  HYMNS. 

TO  HERMES. 

This  hymn  narrates  the  wonderful  performances  of  the 
infant  Hermes  (Mercury)  during  the  first  day  of  his  exist- 
ence. The  poet  tells  us  that  within  a  few  hours  of  his  birth 
he  creeps  to  tlie  door  of  liis  cavern  home,  where  he  finds  a 
tortoise,  from  whose  shell  he  constructs  a  lyre,  thus  becom- 
ing the  inventor  of  that  musical  instrument.  Then  follows 
the  main  story  of  the  hymn.     In  the  evening,  — 

"  Seized  with  a  sudden  fancy  for  fresh  meat,"  — 
he  ranges  mountain  and  valley  in  quest  of  the  herds  of  Apollo. 
He  slays  two  of  the  cattle,  and  discovering  the  secret  of  fire, 
burns  the  bodies  to  leave  no  trace  behind.  The  passage 
given  in  the  text  takes  up  the  story  at  this  point,  narrating 
the  infant's  retvu'n  to  his  cradle  and  his  charming  defense 
when  charged  by  Apollo  with  the  theft.  The  poem  is  too 
long  to  be  given  entire.  The  remaining  stanzas  tell  how 
Apollo  takes  the  little  eiJprit  to  Zeus  for  trial,  and  how  the 
matter  is  finally  settled  by  the  gift  of  Hermes'  newly  in- 
vented lyre  to  Apollo,  the  latter  first  stipulating  that  Her- 
mes  shall  never  steal  from  him  the  lyre  or  anything  else. 

All  night  he  worked  in  the  serene  moonshine  ; 

But  when  the  light  of  day  was  spread  abroad 
He  sought  his  natal  mountain-peaks  divine. 

On  his  long  wandering,  neither  man  nor  god 
Had  met  him,  since  he  killed  Apollo's  kine, 

Nor  house-dog  had  barked  at  him  on  his  road  ; 
Now  he  obliquely  through  the  keyhole  passed, 
Like  a  thin  mist,  or  an  autumnal  blast. 


TO  HERMES.  99 

Right  through  the  temple  of  the  spacious  cave 
He  went  with  soft  light  feet  —  as  if  his  tread 

Fell  not  on  earth  ;  no  sound  their  falling  gave  ; 
Then  to  his  cradle  he  crept  quick,  and  spread 

The  swaddling-clothes  about  him ;  and  the  knave 
Lay  playing  with  the  covering  of  the  bed, 

With  his  left  hand  about  his  knees  —  the  right 

Held  his  beloved  tortoise-lyre  tight. 

There  he  lay  innocent  as  a  new-born  child, 
As  gossips  say  ;  but,  though  he  was  a  god, 

The  goddess,  his  fair  mother,  unbeguiled 
Knew  all  that  he  had  done,  being  abroad  ; 

"  Whence  come  you,  and  from  what  adventure  wild, 
You  cunning  rogue,  and  where  have  you  abode 

All  the  long  night,  clothed  in  your  impudence  ? 

What  have  you  done  since  you  departed  hence  ? 

"  Apollo  soon  will  pass  within  this  gate, 
And  bind  your  tender  body  in  a  chain 

Inextricably  tight,  and  fast  as  fate, 
Unless  you  can  delude  the  god  again, 

Even  when  within  his  arms  —  ah,  runagate  ! 
A  pretty  torment  both  for  gods  and  men 

Your  father  made  when  he  made  you  "  —  "  Dear 
mother," 

Replied  sly  Hermes,  "wherefore  scold  and  bother  ? 

"  As  if  I  were  like  other  babes  as  old 

And  understood  nothing  of  what  is  what ; 

And  cared  at  all  to  liear  my  mother  scold. 
I  in  my  subtle  brain  a  scheme  have  got, 


100  HOMERIC  HYMNS. 

Which,  while  the  sacred  stars  round  Heaven  are 
rolled, 
"WiU  profit  you  and  me  —  nor  shall  our  lot 
Be  as  you  counsel,  without  gifts  or  food 
To  spend  our  lives  in  this  ohscure  abode. 

*'  But  we  shall  leave  this  shadow-peopled  cave, 
And  live  among  the  gods  and  pass  each  day 

In  high  communion,  shai'ing  what  they  have 
Of  profuse  wealth  and  unexhausted  pi'ey  ; 

And,  from  the  portion  which  my  father  gave 
To  Phoebus,  I  wiU  snatch  my  share  away, 

Which  if  my  father  will  not  —  natheless  I, 

Who  am  the  king  of  robbers,  can  but  try. 

"And  if  Latona's  son  should  find  me  out, 
I  '11  countermine  him  by  a  deeper  plan ; 

I  '11  pierce  the  Pythian  temple-walls,  though  stout, 
And  sack  the  fane  of  everything  I  can  — 

Caldrons  and  tripods  of  great  worth  no  doubt. 
Each  golden  cup  and  polished  brazen  pan, 

All  the  wrought  tapestries  and  garments  gay." 

So  they  together  talked  ;  —  meanwhile  the  Day, 

Ethereal-born,  arose  out  of  the  flood 
Of  flowing  Ocean,  bearing  light  to  men. 

ApoUo  passed  toward  the  sacred  wood. 

Which  from  the  inmost  depths  of  its  green  glen 

Echoes  the  voice  of  Neptune,  —  and  there  stood 
On  the  same  spot  in  green  Onchestus  then 

That  same  old  animal,  the  vine-dresser, 

Wlio  was  employed  hedging  his  vineyard  there. 


TO  HERMES.  101 

Latona's  glorious  son  began  :  —  "I  pray 
Tell,  ancient  Ledger  of  Onchestus  green, 

Whether  a  drove  of  kine  has  passed  this  way, 
All  heifers  with  crook'd  horns  ?    for  they  have 
been 

Stolen  from  the  herd  in  high  Pieria 

Where  a  black  buU  was  fed  apart,  between 

Two  woody  mountains  in  a  neighboring  glen, 

And  four  fierce  dogs  watched  there,  unanimous  as 
men. 

"  And,  what  is  strange,  the  author  of  this  theft 
Has  stolen  the  fatted  heifers  every  one. 

But  the  four  dogs  and  the  black  bull  are  left : 
Stolen  they  were  last  night  at  set  of  sun. 

Of  their  soft  beds  and  their  sweet  food  bereft. 
Now  tell  me,  man  born  ere  the  world  begun, 

Have  you  seen  any  one  pass  with  the  cows  ?  " 

To  whom  the  man  of  overhanging  brows,  — 

"  My  friend,  it  would  require  no  common  skill 

Justly  to  speak  of  everything  I  see  : 
On  various  purposes  of  good  or  ill 

Many  pass  by  my  vineyard,  —  and  to  me 
'T  is  difficult  to  know  the  invisible 

Thoughts,  which  in  all  those  many  minds  may  be. 
Thus  much  alone  I  certainly  can  say : 
I  tilled  these  vines  till  the  decline  of  day, 

"  And  then  I  thought  I  saw,  but  dare  not  speak 
With  certainty  of  such  a  wondrous  thing, 

A  child,  who  could  not  have  been  born  a  week, 
Those  fair-horned  cattle  closely  following. 


102  HOMERIC  HYMNS. 

And  in  his  hand  he  held  a  polished  stick ; 

And,  as  on  purpose,  he  walked  wavering 
From  one  side  to  the  other  of  the  road. 
And  with  his  face  opposed  the  steps  he  trod." 

Apollo,  hearing  this,  passed  quickly  on  ; 

No  winged  omen  could  have  shown  more  clear 
That  the  deceiver  was  his  father's  son. 

So  the  god  wraps  a  purple  atmosphere 
Around  his  shoulders,  and  like  fire  is  gone 

To  famous  Pylos,  seeking  his  kine  there, 
And  found  their  track  and  his,  yet  hardly  cold, 
And  cried  —  "  What  wonder  do  mine  eyes  behold ! 

"  Here  are  the  footsteps  of  the  horned  herd 

Turned  back  towards  their  fields  of  asphodel ;  — c 

But  these  are  not  the  tracks  of  beast  or  bird, 
Gray  wolf,  or  bear,  or  lion  of  the  dell, 

Or  man^d  Centaur  —  sand  was  never  stirred 
By  man  or  woman  thus  !     Inexplicable  ! 

Who  with  unwearied  feet  could  e'er  impress 

The  sand  with  such  enormous  vestiges  ? 

"  That   was   most   strange  —  but  this   is    stranger 
still  ! " 

Thus  having  said,  Phoebus  impetuously 
Sought  high  Cyllene's  forest-cinctured  hill. 

And  the  deep  cavern  where  dark  shadows  lie, 
And  where  the  ambrosial  nymph  with  happy  will 

Bore  the  Saturnian's  love-child,  Mercury  ; 
And  a  delighted  odor  from  the  dew 
Of  the  hill  pastures,  at  his  coming  flew. 


TO  HERMES.  103 

And  Phoebus  stooped  under  the  craggy  roof 
Arched  over  the  dark  cavern  :  Maia's  child 

Perceived  that  he  came  angry,  far  aloof, 

About  the  cows  of  which  he  had  been  beguiled, 

And  over  him  the  fine  and  fragrant  woof 
Of  his  ambrosial  swaddling-clothes  he  piled  ; 

As  among  firebrands  lies  a  burning  spark 

Covered,  beneath  the  ashes  cold  and  dark. 

There,  like  an  infant  who  had  sucked  his  fill, 
And  now  was  newly  washed  and  put  to  bed, 

Awake,  but  courting  sleep  with  weary  will 

And  gathered  in  a  lump,  hands,  feet,  and  head, 

He  lay  ;  and  his  beloved  tortoise  still 

He  grasped  and  held  under  his  shoulder-blade  ; 

Phoebus  the  lovely  mountain  goddess  knew, 

Not  less  her  subtle,  swindling  baby,  who 

Lay  swathed  in  his  sly  wiles.     Round  every  crook 
Of  the  ample  cavern,  for  his  kine  Apollo 

Looked  sharp  ;  and  when  he  saw  them  not,  he  took 
The   glittering   key,    and    opened    three    great 
hollow 

Recesses  in  the  rock  —  where  many  a  nook 

Was  filled  with  the  sweet  food  immortals  swallow, 

And  mighty  heaps  of  silver  and  of  gold 

Were  piled  within  —  a  wonder  to  behold ! 

And  white  and  silver  robes,  all  overwrought 

With  cunning  workmanship  of  tracery  sweet  — 

Except  among  the  gods  there  can  be  naught 
In  the  wide  world  to  be  compared  with  it. 


104  HOMERIC  HYMNS. 

Latona's  offspring,  after  having  sought 

His  herds  in  every  corner,  thus  did  greet 
Great  Hermes  :  "  Little  cradled  rogue,  declare, 
Of  my  illustrious  heifers,  where  they  are  ! 

"  Speak  quicldy  !  or  a  quarrel  between  us 
Must  rise,  and  the  event  will  be,  that  I 

Shall  haul  you  into  dismal  Tartarus, 
In  fiery  gloom  to  dwell  eternally  ! 

Nor  shall  your  father  nor  your  mother  loose 
The  bars  of  that  black  dungeon  —  utterly 

You  shall  be  cast  out  from  the  light  of  day, 

To  rule  the  ghosts  of  men,  unblest  as  they." 

To  whom  thus  Hermes  slyly  answered  :   "  Son 
Of  great  Latona,  what  a  speech  is  this  ! 

Why  come  you  here  to  ask  me  what  is  done 
With  the  wild  oxen  which  it  seems  you  miss  ? 

I  have  not  seen  them,  nor  from  any  one 
Have  heard  a  word  of  the  wliole  business  ; 

If  you  should  promise  an  immense  reward, 

I  could  not  tell  more  than  you  now  have  heard. 

"  An  ox-stealer  should  be  both  tall  and  strong, 
And  I  am  but  a  little  new-born  thing. 

Who  yet,  at  least,  can  think  of  nothing  wrong. 
My  business  is  to  suck,  and  sleep,  afld  fling 

The  cradle  clothes  about  me  all  day  long  ; 
Or,  half  asleep,  hear  my  sweet  mother  sing, 

And  to  be  washed  in  water  clean  and  warm. 

And  hushed  and  kissed  and  kept  secure  from  harm. 


TO  HERMES.  105 

"  Oh,  let  not  e'er  this  quarrel  be  averred  ! 

The  astounded  gods  would  laugh  at  you,  if  e'er 
You  should  allege  a  story  so  absurd 

As  that  a  new-born  infant  forth  could  fare 
Out  of  his  home  after  a  savage  herd. 

I  was  born  yesterday  —  my  small  feet  are 
Too  tender  for  the  roads  so  hard  and  rough ; 
And  if  you  think  that  tliis  is  not  enough, 

"  I  swear  a  great  oath,  by  my  father's  head, 
That  I  stole  not  your  cows,  and  that  I  know 

Of  no  one  else  who  might,  or  could,  or  did. 
Whatever  things  cows  are  I  do  not  know, 

For  I  have  only  heard  the  name."     This  said, 
He  winked  as  fast  as  could  be,  and  his  brow 

Was  wrinkled,  and  a  whistle  loud  gave  he. 

Like  one  who  hears  some  strange  absurdity. 

Apollo  gently  smiled  and  said,  *'  Ay,  ay, 
You  cunning  little  rascal,  you  will  bore 

Many  a  rich  man's  house,  and  your  array 

Of  thieves  will  lay  their  siege  before  his  door, 

Silent  as  night,  in  night ;  and  many  a  day 

In  the  wild  glens  rough  shepherds  will  dejjlore 

That  you  or  yours,  having  an  appetite. 

Met  with  their  cattle,  comrade  of  the  night ! 

"  And  this  among  the  gods  shall  be  your  gift,  — 
To  be  considered  as  the  lord  of  those 

Who  swindle,  house-break,  sheep-steal,  and   shop- 
lift; 
But  now  if  you  would  not  your  last  sleep  doze, 


lOG  HOMERIC  HYMNS. 

Crawl  out !  "  —  Thus  saying,  Phoebus  did  uplift 
The  subtle  infant  in  his  swaddling-clothes. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 

TO  MINERVA. 
I  SING  the  glorious  Power  with  azure  eyes, 
Athenian  Pallas !  tameless,  chaste,  and  wise, 
Tritogenia,  town-preserving  maid, 
Revered  and  mighty  ;  from  his  awful  head 
Whom  Jove  brought  forth,  in  warlike  armor  dressed, 
Golden,  all  radiant !  wonder  strange  possessed 
The  everlasting  gods  that  shape  to  see. 
Shaking  a  javelin  keen,  impetuously 
Rush  from  the  crest  of  segis-bearing  Jove ; 
Fearfully  Heaven  was  shaken,  and  did  move 
Beneath  the  might  of  the  Cerulean-eyed  ; 
Earth  dreadfully  resounded,  far  and  wide  ; 
And,  lifted  from  its  depths,  the  sea  swelled  high 
In  purple  billows  ;  the  tide  suddenly 
Stood  still,  and  great  Hyperion's  son  long  time 
Checked  his  swift  steeds,  till  where  she  stood  sub- 
lime, 
Pallas  from  her  immortal  shoulders  threw 
The  arms  divine  ;  wise  Jove  rejoiced  to  view. 
Child  of  the  ^gis-bearer,  hail  to  thee ! 
Nor  thine  nor   others'  praise  shall  unremembered 

be. 

Shelley. 


HESIOD,  800  B.  c. 

THEOGONY,  1-34. 

THE  aiUSES. 
Begin  we  from  the  Muses,  O  my  song  ! 
Whose  mansion  is  the  mountain  vast  and  holy 
Of  HeHcon ;  where  aye  with  delicate  feet 
Fast  by  Jove's  altai-  and  purpureal  fount 
They  tread  the  measured  round  :  their  tender  limbs 
Laved  in  Permessian  waters,  or  the  stream 
Of  blest  Olmius,  or  pure  Hippocrene, 
On  the  high  top  of  Helicon  they  wont 
To  lead  the  mazy  measure,  breathing  grace, 
Enkindling  love,  and  glance  their  quivering  feet. 
Thence  break  they  forth  tumultuous,  and  enwrapped 
Wide  with  dim  air,  through  silence  of  the  night 
Shape  their  ethereal  way,  and  send  abroad 
A  voice,  in  stilly  darkness  beautiful. 
Jove  segis-armed  they  praise,  in  (;horal  hymns 
Of  adoration  ;  and  of  Argos  named 
Majestic  Juno,  gliding  on  her  way 
With  golden-sandaled  feet :  and  her  whose  eyes 
Glitter  with  azure  light,  Minerva  born 
From  Jove  ;  Apollo,  sire  of  prophecy, 
And  Dian,  joyous  in  the  sounding  shaft ; 
Earth-shaker  Neptune,  earth-enclasping  god  ; 
And  Themis,  name  adorable  in  heaven ; 
And  Venus,  lovely  with  her  tremulous  lids  ; 


108  HESJOD. 

And  Hebe,  who  with  golden  fillet  binds 
Her  brow  ;  and  fair  Dione,  and  the  Morn, 
And  the  great  Sun,  and  the  resplendent  Moon  ; 
Latona,  and  Ijipetus,  and  him 
Of  mazy  counsel,  Saturn  ;  and  the  Earth, 
And  the  vast  Ocean,  and  the  sable  Night; 
And  all  the  holy  race  of  deities 
Existing  ever. 

They  to  Hesiod  erst 
Have  taught  their  stately  song  ;  the  whilst  his  flocks 
He  fed  beneath  all-sacred  Helicon. 
Thus  first  those  goddesses  their  heavenly  speech 
Addressed,  the  Olympian  Muses  born  from  Jove : 

"  Night- watching  shepherds  !  beings  of  reproach ! 
Ye  grosser  natures,  hear  !  we  know  to  speak 
Full  many  a  fiction  false,  yet  seeming-true. 
Or  utter  at  our  will  the  things  of  truth." 

So  said  they  —  daughters  of  the  mighty  Jove 
All-eloquent  —  and  gave  unto  my  hand 
Wondrous  I  a  verdant  rod  ;  a  laurel-branch 
Of  bloom  unwithering ;  and  a  voice  imbreathed 
Divine  ;  that  I  might  utter  forth  in  song 
The  future  and  the  past :  and  bade  me  sing 
The  blessed  race  existing  evermore. 
And  first  and  last  resound  the  Muses'  praise. 
^  Charles  Abraham  Elton. 

THEOGONY,  190-206. 

APHKODITE  BORN  FROM  THE  FOAM  OF  THE 

SEA. 

And  now  swift-circling  a  white  foam  arose 

From  that  immortal  substance,  and  a  nymph 


TEE    WORKS  AND  DAYS.  lU9 

Was  nourished  in  the  midst.     The  wafting  waves 

First  bore  her  to  Cj'thera  the  divine  : 

To  wave-encircled  Cyprus  came  she  then, 

And  forth  emerged,  a  goddess,  in  the  charms 

Of  awful  beauty.     Where  her  delicate  feet 

Had  pressed  the  sands,  green    herbage  flowering 

sprang. 
Her  Aphrodite  gods  and  mortals  name, 
The  foam-born  goddess  :  and  her  name  is  known 
As  Cytherea  with  the  blooming  wreath, 
For  that  she  touched  Cythera's  flowery  coast ; 
And  Cypris,  for  that  on  the  Cyprian  shore 
She  rose,  amid  the  multitude  of  waves. 
Love  tracked  her  steps  and  beautiful  Desire 
Pursued  ;  wliile  soon  as  born  she  bent  her  way 
Toward  heaven's  assembled  gods  ;  her  honors  these 
From  the  beginning  ;  whether  gods  or  men 
Her  presence  bless,  to  her  the  portion  fell 
Of  virgin  whisperings,  and  alluring  smiles, 
And  smooth  deceits,  and  gentle  ecstasy, 
And  dalliance,  and  the  blandishments  of  love. 

Elton. 

THE  WORKS  AND   DAYS,  59-104. 
PANDORA  AND  HER   CASKET. 

Creation  of  Pandora  {Woman).    Her  Casket  with 
Hope  at  the  Bottom. 

The  Sire  who  rules  the  earth  and  sways  the  pole 
Had  said,  and  laughter  filled  his  secret  soul; 
He  bade  the  crippled  *  god  his  hest  obey, 

^  Hephaestus  (Vulcan). 


110  HESIOD. 

And  mould  with  tempering  water  plastic  clay ; 
With  human  nerve  and  human  voice  invest 
The  limbs  elastic  and  the  breathing  breast ; 
Fair  as  the  blooming  goddesses  above, 
A  virgin's  likeness  with  the  looks  of  love. 
He  bade  Minerva  teach  the  skill  that  sheds 
A  thousand  colors  in  the  gliding  threads  ; 
He  called  the  magic  o£  love's  golden  queen 
To  breathe  around  a  witchery  of  mien  ; 
And  eager  passion's  never-sated  flame, 
And  cares  of  dress  that  prey  upon  the  frame  ; 
Bade  Hermes  last  endue  with  craft  refined 
Of  treacherous  manners,  and  a  shameless  mind. 
He  gives  command,  the  inferior  powers  obey : 
The  crippled  artist  moulds  the  tempered  clay  : 
By  Jove's  design  arose  the  bashful  maid  ; 
The  cestus  Pallas  clasped,  the  robe  arrayed : 
Adored  Persuasion  and  the  Graces  young 
Her  tapered  limbs  with  golden  jewels  hung : 
Round  her  fair  brow  the  lovely-tressed  Hours 
A  garland  twined  of  spring's  purpureal  flowers : 
The  whole  attire  Minerva's  graceful  art 
Disposed,  adjusted,  formed  to  every  part : 
And  last  the  winged  herald  of  the  skies, 
Slayer  of  Argus,  gave  delusive  hes  ; 
Insidious  manners,  honeyed  speech  instilled. 
And  warbling  accents,  as  the  Thunderer  willed ; 
Then  by  the  feathered  messenger  of  heaven 
The  name  Pandora  to  the  maid  was  given  ; 
For  all  the  gods  conferred  a  gifted  grace 
To  crown  this  mischief  of  the  mortal  race : 
The  Sire  commands  the  winged  herald  bear 


THE   WORKS  AND  DAYS.  Ill 

The  finished  nymph,  the  inextricable  snare  ; 
To  Epimetheus  was  the  present  brought. 
Prometheus'  warning  vanished  from  his  thought  — 
That  he  disclaim  each  offering  from  the  skies, 
And  straight  restore,  lest  ill  to  man  arise. 
But  he  received  ;  and  conscious  knew  too  late 
The  insidious  gift,  and  felt  the  curse  of  fate. 

Whilom  on  earth  the  sons  of  men  abode 
From  evil  free  and  labor's  galling  load  ; 
Free  from  diseases  that  with  racking  rage 
Precipitate  the  pale  decline  of  age. 
Now  swift  the  days  of  manhood  haste  away, 
And  misery's  pressure  turns  the  temples  gray. 
The  woman's  hands  an  ample  casket  bear ;  — 
She  lifts  the  lid,  —  she  scatters  ills  in  air. 
Hope  sole  remained  within,  nor  took  her  flight. 
Beneath  the  casket's  verge  concealed  from  sight. 
The  unbroken  cell  with  closing  lid  the  maid 
Sealed,  and  the  cloud-assembler's  voice  obeyed. 
Issued  the  rest  in  quick  dispersion  hurled. 
And  woes  innumerous  roamed  the  breathing  woi'ld  : 
With  ills  the  land  is  rife,  with  ills  the  sea ; 
Diseases  haunt  our  frail  humanity  ; 
Self-wandering  through  the   noon,  the  night  they 

glide. 
Voiceless  —  a  voice  the  power  all-wise  denied. 
Know  then  this  awful  truth  ;  it  is  not  given 
To  elude  the  wisdom  of  omniscient  Heaven. 

Elton. 


EARLY  LYRIC  AND  ELEGIAC. 

CALLINUS,  G90  B.  c. 

EXHORTATION  TO  BATTLE. 

How  long  will  ye  slumber  ?  when  will  ye  take  heart 

And  fear  the  reproach  of  your  neighbors  at  hand  ? 

Fie  !  comrades,  to  think  ye  have  peace  for  your  jjart, 

Whilst  the  sword  and  the  arrow  are  wasting  our 
land ! 

Shame  !  grasp  the  shield  close !  cover  well  the  bold 
breast ! 

Aloft  raise  the  sjiear  as  ye  march  on  the  foe  ! 

With  no  thought  of  retreat,  with  no  terror  con- 
fessed, * 

Hurl  your  last  dart  in  dying,  or  strike  your  last 
blow. 

Oh,  't  is  noble  and  glorious  to  fight  for  our  all,  — 

For  our  country,  our  children,  the  wife  of  our  love  ! 

Death  comes  not  the  sooner  ;  no  soldier  shall  fall, 

Ere  his  thread  is  spun  out  by  the  sisters  above. 

Once  to  die  is  man's  doom  ;  rush,  rush  to  the  fight ! 

He  cannot  escape,  though  his  blood  were  Jove's  own. 

For  a  while  let  him  cheat  the  shrill  arrow  by  flight ; 

Fate  will  catch  him  at  last  in  his  chamber  alone. 

Unlamented  he  dies  ;  —  unregi-etted.     Not  so. 

When,  the  tower  of  his  country,  in  death  falls  the 
brave ; 


TTRT^US.  113 

Thrice  hallowed  his  name  amongst  all,  high  or  low, 
As  with  blessings  alive,  so  with  tears  in  the  gTave. 

Henry  Nelson  Coleridge. 

TYRT^US,  680  B.  c. 

MAKTIAL  ELEGY. 

How  glorious  fall  the  valiant,  sword  in  hand, 

In  front  of  battle  for  their  native  land ! 

But  oh  !  what  ills  await  the  wi'etch  that  yields, 

A  recreant  outcast  from  his  country's  fields ! 

The  mother  whom  he  loves  shall  quit  her  home, 

An  aged  father  at  his  side  shall  roam  ; 

His  little  ones  shall  weeping  with  liim  go. 

And  a  young  wife  participate  his  woe ; 

While  scorned  and  scowled  upon  by  every  face. 

They  pine  for  food,  and  beg  from  place  to  place. 

Stain  of  his  breed !  dishonoring  manhood's  form, 
All  ills  shall  cleave  to  him  :  affliction's  storm 
Shall  blind  him  wandering  in  the  vale  of  years. 
Till,  lost  to  all  but  ignominious  fears. 
He  shall  not  blush  to  leave  a  recreant's  name, 
And  children,  like  himself,  inured  to  shame. 

But  we  will  combat  for  our  fathers'  land, 
And  we  will  drain  the  lifeblood  where  we  stand, 
To  save  our  children  :  —  fight  ye  side  by  side. 
And  serried  close,  ye  men  of  youthful  pride. 
Disdaining  fear,  and  deeming  light  the  cost 
Of  life  itself  in  glorious  battle  lost. 


114  EARLY  LYRIC  AND  ELEGIAC. 

Leave  not  our  sires  to  stem  the  unequal  fight, 
Whose  limbs  are    nerved   no  more   with   buoyant 

might ; 
Nor,  lagging  backward,  let  the  younger  breast 
Permit  the  man  of  age  (a  sight  unblest) 
To  welter  in  the  combat's  foremost  thrust, 
His  hoary  head  disheveled  in  the  dust, 
And  venerable  bosom  bleeding  bare. 
But  youth's  fair  form,  though  fallen,  is  ever  fair, 
And  beautiful  in  death  the  boy  appears. 
The  hero  boy,  that  dies  in  blooming  years : 
In  man's  regret  he  lives,  and  woman's  tears  ; 
More  sacred  than  in  life,  and  lovelier  far. 
For  having  perished  in  the  front  of  war. 

Thomas  Campbell. 

ARCHILOCHUS,  670  b.  c. 

EQUANBIITY. 

Tossed  on  a  sea  of  troubles,  Soul,  my  Soul, 

Thyself  do  thou  control ; 
And  to  the  weapons  of  advancing  foes 

A  stubborn  breast  oppose  ; 
Undaunted  'mid  the  hostile  might 
Of  squadrons  burning  for  the  fight. 

Thine  be  no  boasting  when  the  victor's  crown 
Wins  thee  deserved  renown  ; 

Thine  no  dejected  sorrow,  when  defeat 
Would  urge  a  base  retreat : 

Rejoice  in  joyous  things  —  nor  overmuch 
Let  grief  thy  bosom  touch 


AL  OMAN  —  MIMNERM  US.  115 

'Midst  evil,  and  still  bear  in  mind, 

How  changeful  are  the  ways  of  humankind. 

William  Hay. 

ALCMAN,   660  B.  c. 

NATURE'S  CALM. 

The   mountain   brows,  the   rocks,   the   peaks,  are 
sleeping. 

Uplands  and  gorges  hush  ! 
The  thousand  moorland  things  are  stUlness  keeping ; 

The  beasts  under  each  bush 

Crouch,  and  the  hived  bees 

Rest  in  their  honeyed  ease  ; 
In  the  purple  sea  fish  lie  as  they  were  dead, 
And  each  bird  folds  his  wing  over  his  head. 

Edwin  Arnold. 

MIHINERMUS,  620  b.  c. 

YOUTH  AND  AGE. 

Ah  !  fair  and  lovely  bloom  the  flowers  of  youth  ; 

On  men  and  maids  they  beautifully  smile  : 
But  soon  comes  doleful  eld,  who,  void  of  ruth, 

Indifferently  afflicts  the  fair  and  vile  ; 
Then  cares  wear  out  the  heart :  old  eyes  forlorn 

Scarce  reck  the  very  sunshine  to  behold  — 
Unloved  by  youths,  of  every  maid  the  scorn  — 

So  hard  a  lot  God  lays  upon  the  old. 

John  Addington  Symonds,  M.  D. 


116  EARLY  LYRIC  AND  ELEGIAC. 

ALGOUS,   600  B.  C. 

WTNTEK. 

The  rain  of  Zeus  descends,  and  from  high  heaven 

A  storm  is  driven  : 
And  on  the  running  water-brooks  the  cold 
)^  Lays  icy  hold  : 

Then  up  !  beat  down  the  winter  ;  make  the  fire 

Blaze  high  and  higher  ; 
Mix  wine  as  sweet  as  honey  of  the  bee 

Abundantly ; 
Then  drink  with  comfortable  wool  around 

Your  temples  bound. 
We  must  not  peld  our  hearts  to  woe,  or  wear 

With  wasting  care ; 
For  grief  will  profit  us  no  whit,  my  friend, 

Nor  nothing  mend  : 
But  this  is  our  best  medicine,  with  wine  fraught 

To  cast  out  thought. 

John  Addington  Symonds. 

ODE  IN  IMITATION  OF  ALGOUS. 

What  constitutes  a  state  ? 
Not  high-raised  battlement  or  labored  mound, 

Thick  wall  or  moated  gate ; 
Not  cities  proud  with  spires  and  turrets  crowned  ; 

Not  bays  and  broad-armed  ports. 
Where,  laughing  at  the  storm,  rich  navies  ride ; 

Not  starred  and  spangled  courts, 
Where  low-browed  baseness  wafts  perfume  to  pride. 

No  ;  men,  high-minded  men, 


SAPPHO.  117 

With  powers  as  far  above  dull  brutes  endued 

In  forest,  brake,  or  den. 
As  beasts  excel  cold  rocks  and  brambles  rude ; 

Men  who  theii-  duties  know, 
But  know  their  rights,  and,  knowing,  dare  maintain, 

Prevent  the  long-aimed  blow, 
And  crush  the  tyrant  while  they  rend  the  chain  : 

These  constitute  a  state. 
And  sovereign  Law,  that  state's  collected  will 

O'er  thrones  and  globes  elate, 
Sits  empress,  crowning  good,  repressmg  ill. 

Sir  William  Jones. 

SAPPHO,  600  B.  c. 

ODE  TO  A  LOVED  ONE. 
Blest  as  the  immortal  gods  is  he, 
The  youth  who  fondly  sits  by  thee. 
And  hears  and  sees  thee,  all  the  while, 
Softly  speak  and  sweetly  smile. 

'Twas  this  deprived  my  soul  of  rest, 
And  raised  such  tumults  in  my  breast ; 
For,  while  I  gazed,  in  transport  tossed. 
My  breath  was  gone,  my  voice  was  lost ; 

My  bosom  glowed  ;  the  subtle  flame 
Ran  quick  through  all  my  vital  fi*ame  ; 
O'er  my  dim  eyes  a  darkness  hung ; 
My  ears  with  hollow  murmurs  rung  ; 

In  flewy  damps  my  limbs  were  chilled ; 
My  blood  with  gentle  liorrors  thrilled  : 


118  EARLY  LYRIC  AND  ELEGIAC. 

My  feeble  pulse  forgot  to  play  ; 
I  fainted,  sunk,  and  died  away. 

Ambrose  Philips. 

HYMN  TO  APHRODITE. 
Throned  in  splendor,  immortal  Aphrodite  ! 
Child  of  Zeus,  Enchantress,  I  implore  thee 
Slay  me  not  in  this  distress  and  anguish, 
Lady  of  beauty. 

Hither  come  as  once  before  thou  camest. 
When  from  afar  thou  heard'st  my  voice  lamenting, 
Heard'st  and  camest,  leaving  thy  glorious  father's 
Palace  all  golden. 

Yoking  thy  chariot.    Fair  the  doves  that  bore  thee ; 
Swift  to  the  darksome  earth  their  course  directing, 
Waving  their  thick  wings  from  the  highest  heaven 
Down  through  the  ether. 

Quickly  they  came.     Then  thou,  0  blessed  goddess, 
All  in  smiling  wreathed  thy  face  immortal. 
Bade  me  tell  thee  the  cause  of  all  my  suffering, 
Why  now  I  called  thee  ; 

What  for  my  maddened  heart  I  most  was  longing. 
"  Whom,"  thou  criest,  "  dost  wish  that  sweet  Per- 
suasion 
Now  win  over  and  lead  to  thy  love,  my  Sappho  ? 
Who  is  it  wrongs  thee  ? 

"  For,  though  now  he  flies,  he  soon  shall  follow, 
Soon  shall  be  giving  gifts  who  now  rejects  them. 


SAPPHO.  119 

Even  though  now  he  love  not,  soon  shall  he  love 
thee 

Even  though  thou  wouldst  not." 

Come  then  now,  dear  goddess,  and  release  me 
From  my  anguish.     All  my  heart's  desh'ing 
Grant  thou  now.    Now  too  again  as  aforetime, 
^  Be  my  protector. 

William  Hyde  Appleton. 

TO  EVENING. 

O  Hesperus  !     Thou  bringest  all  things  home  ; 
All  that  the  garish  day  hath  scattered  wide  ; 
The  sheep,  the  goat,  back  to  the  welcome  fold  ; 
Thou  bring'st  the  child,  too,  to  his  mother's  side. 

,        Appleton. 

THE  MAIDEN  IN  LOVE. 
Sweet  mother,  I  can  spin  no  more  to-day. 
And  all  for  a  youth  who  has  stolen  my  heart  away. 

Apipleton. 

TO  ONE  WHO  LOVED  NOT  POETRY. 
Thou  liest  dead,  and  there  will  be  no  memory  left 

behind 
Of  thee  or  thine  in  all  the  earth,  for  never  didst 

thou  bind 
The  roses  of  Pierian  streams  upon  thy  brow  ;  thy 

doom 
Is  now  to  flit    with  unknown  ghosts  in  cold    and 

nameless  gloom. 

Edwin  Arnold. 


120  EARLY  LYRIC  AND  ELEGIAC. 

THE  MOON. 

The  stars  about  the  lovely  moon 
Fade  back  and  vanish  very  soon. 
When,  round  and  full,  her  silver  face 
Swims  into  sight,  and  lights  all  space. 

Arnold. 

DEATH, 

To  die  must  needs  be  sad,  the  gods  do  know  it ; 
For  were  death  sweet,  they  'd  die,  and  straightway 
show  it. 

Arnold. 

SONG  OF  THE  ROSE. 

If  Zeus  chose  us  a  King  of  the  flowers  in  his  mirth, 
He  would  call  to   the  rose,  and    would   royally 
crown  it  ; 
For  the  rose,  ho,  the  rose  !  is  the  grace  of  the  earth. 
Is  the  light  of  the  plants  that  are  growing  upon 
it! 
For  the  rose,  ho,  the  rose  !  is  the  eye  of  the  flowers, 
Is  the  blush  of  the  meadows  that  feel  themselves 
fair. 
Is  the  lightning  of  beauty  that  strikes  through  the 
bowers 
On  pale  lovers  that  sit  in  the  glow  unaware. 
Ho,  the  rose  breathes  of  love !  ho,  the  rose  lifts  the 
cup 
To  the  red  lips  of  Cypris  invoked  for  a  guest ! 
Ho,  the  rose  having  curled  its  sweet  leaves  for  the 
world 


ERINNA  —  THEOGNIS.  121 

Takes  delight  in  the  motion  its  petals  keep  up, 
As  they  laugh  to  the  wind  as  it  laughs  fi-om  the 
west. 

Mrs.  Browning, 

ERINNA,   600  B.  c. 

EPITAPH  ON  HER  FRIEND,  BAUCIS. 

Pillars  of  death  !   carved  sirens  !  tearful  urn  ! 

In  whose  sad  keejiing  my  poor  dust  is  laid, 
To  those  who  near  my  tomb  their  footsteps  turn, 

Stranger  or  Greek,  bid  hail !  and  say,  a  maid 
Rests  in  her  bloom  below  ;  her  sire  the  name 

Of  Baucis  gave  ;  her  birth  and  lineage  high : 
And  say  her  bosom-friend  Erinna  came. 

And  on  this  marble  graved  her  elegy. 


Elton. 


THEOGNIS,  540  B.  c. 


SONG. 

Muses  and  Graces !  daughters  of  high  Jove, 
When  erst  you  left  your  glorious  seats  above 
To  bless  the  bridal  of  that  wondrous  pair, 
Cadmus  and  Harmonia  fair, 
Ye  chanted  forth  a  divine  air  : 
"  What  is  good  and  fair 
Shall  ever  be  our  care." 
Thus  the  burden  of  it  rang  : 

"  That  shall  never  be  our  care 
Which  is  neither  good  nor  fair." 
Such  were  the  words  your  lips  immortal  sang. 

J.  A.  Symonds,  M.  D. 


122  EARLY  LYRIC  AND  ELEGIAC. 


FRAGMENTS  FROM  THEOGNIS. 

ENJOY  THE  PRESENT. 

Take  thy  delight,  my  soul !  another  day 
Another  race  shall  see,  and  I  be  breathless  clay. 
Vain  mortals,  and  unwise  !   who  mourn  the  hour 
Of  death,  not  that  of  youth's  departing  flower. 
For  all,  whom  once  the  earth  hath  covered  o'er, 
Gone  down  to  Erebus'  unjoyous  shore, 
Delight  no  more  to  hear  the  lyre's  soft  sound, 
Nor  pass  the  jocund  cups  of  Bacchus  round. 
So  thou,  my  soul,  shall  revel  at  thy  will, 
While  light  is  yet  my  hand,  my  head  untrembling 
still. 

Henry  Hart  Milman. 

<^  EDUCATION. 

To  rear  a  child  is  easy,  but  to  teach 
Morals  and  manners  is  beyond  our  reach  ; 
To  make  the  foolish  wise,  the  wicked  good, 
That  science  never  yet  was  understood. 

The  sons  of  ^sculapius,  if  their  art 
Could  remedy  a  perverse  and  wicked  heart, 
Might  earn  enormous  wages  !     But,  in  fact, 
The  mind  is  not  compounded  and  compact 
Of  precept  and  example  ;  human  art 
In  human  nature  has  no  share  or  part : 
Hatred  of  vice,  the  fear  of  shame  and  sin 
Are  things  of  native  growth,  not  grafted  in  : 
Else  wise  and  worthy  parents  might  correct 
In  children's  hearts  each  error  and  defect ; 


\ 


THEOGNIS.  123 

Wlaereas,  we  see  them  disappointed  still  — 
No  scheme  nor  artifice  of  human  skill 
Can  rectify  the  passions  or  the  will. 

John  Hookham  Frere. 

JOVE'S  WAYS. 

Blessed,  almighty  Jove  I  with  deep  amaze 
I  view  the  world  ;  and  marvel  at  thy  ways ! 
All  our  devices,  every  subtle  plan, 
Each  secret  act,  and  all  the  thoughts  of  man, 
Your  boundless  intellect  can  comprehend  ! 
On  your  award  our  destinies  depend. 

How  can  you  reconcile  it  to  your  sense 
Of  right  and  wrong,  thus  loosely  to  dispense 
Your  bounties  on  the  wicked  and  the  good  ? 
How  can  your  laws  be  known  or  understood  ? 
When  we  behold  a  man  faithful  and  just, 
Humbly  devout,  true  to  his  word  and  trust. 
Dejected  and  oppressed ;  whilst  the  profane. 
And  wicked,  and  unjust,  in  glory  reign. 
Proudly  triumphant,  flushed  with  power  and  gain  ; 
What  inference  can  human  reason  draw  ? 
How  can  we  guess  the  secret  of  thy  law, 
Or  choose  the  path  approved  by  power  divine  ? 
V  Frere. 

RESIGNATION. 

Entire  and  perfect  happiness  is  never 
Vouchsafed  to  man  ;  but  nobler  minds  endeavor 
To  keep  their  inward  sorrows  unrevealed. 
With  meaner  spirits  nothing  is  concealed  : 
Weak,  and  unable  to  conform  to  fortune. 
With  rude  rejoicing  or  complaint  importune, 


124  EARLY  LYRIC  AND  ELEGIAC. 

They  vent  their  exultation  or  distress. 

Whate'er  betides  us  —  grief  or  happiness  — 

The  brave  and  wise  will  bear  with  steady  mind, 

The  allotment,  unforeseen  and  undefined, 

Of  good  or  evil,  which  the  gods  bestow, 

Promiscuously  dealt  to  inan  below. 

Frere. 

RASH,  ANGRY  WORDS. 

Rash,  angry  words,  and  spoken  out  of  season, 

When  passion  has  usurped  the  throne  of  reason, 

^  Have  ruined  many.     Passion  is  unjust, 

And  for  an  idle  transitory  gust 

Of  gratified  revenge  dooms  us  to  pay, 

With  long  repentance  at  a  later  day. 

Frere. 
THE  POET'S  DUTY. 

The  servant  of  the  Muse,  gifted  and  graced 
With  high  preeminence  of  art  and  taste, 
Has  an  allotted  duty  to  fulfill ; 
Bound  to  dispense  the  treasure  of  his  skill, 
Without  a  selfish  or  invidious  view  ; 
Bound  to  recite,  and  to  compose  anew ; 
Not  to  reserve  his  talent  for  himself. 
In  secret,  like  a  miser  with  his  pelf. 

Frere. 

SIMONIDES   OF  CEOS,  556-468  b.  c. 

DANAE  AND  HER  BABE  ADRIFT. 

When,  in  the  carven  chest, 
The  winds  that  blew  and  waves  in  wild  unrest 
Smote  her  witli  fear,  she,  not  with  cheeks  unwet, 

Her  arms  of  love  round  Perseus  set, 


SIMONIDES   OF  CEOS.  125 

And  said  :  O  child,  what  grief  is  mine  ! 
But  thou  dost  slumber,  and  thy  baby  breast 

Is  sunk  in  rest, 
Here  in  the  cheerless  brass-bound  bark, 
Tossed  amid  starless  night  and  pitchy  dark. 

Nor  dost  thou  heed  the  scudding  brine 
Of  waves  that  wash  above  thy  curls  so  deep, 
Nor  the  shrill  winds  that  sweep,  — 
Lapped  in  thy  purple  robe's  embrace. 

Fair  little  face  ! 
But  if  this  dread  were  dreadful  too  to  thee, 
Then  wouldst  thou  lend  thy  listening  ear  to  me  ; 
Therefore  I  cry,  —  Sleep,  babe,  and  sea,  be  still. 
And  slumber  our  immeasured  ill ! 

Oh,  may  some  change  of  fate,  sire  Zeus,  from  thee 
Descend,  our  woes  to  end ! 
But  if  this  prayer,  too  overbold,  oflFend 

Thy  justice,  yet  be  merciful  to  me  ! 

J.  A.  Symonds. 

MARATHON. 
At  Marathon  for  Greece  the  Athenians  fought ; 
And  low  the  Medians'  gilded  power  they  brought. 

John  Sterling. 

THERMOPYL^. 
Of  those  who  at  Thermopyl^  were  slain, 
Glorious  the  doom,  and  beautiful  the  lot ; 
Their  tomb  an  altar  :  men  from  tears  refrain 
To  honor  them,  and  praise,  but  mourn  them  not. 
Such  sepulchre,  nor  drear  decay 
Nor  all-destroying  time  shall  waste  ;  this  right  have 
they. 


126  EARLY  LYRIC  AND  ELEGIAC. 

Within  their  grave  the  home-bred  glory 
Of  Greece  was  laid  :  this  witness  gives 
Leonidas  the  Spartan,  in  whose  story 
A  wreath  of  famous  virtue  ever  lives. 

Sterling. 

EPITAPH    FOR  THE  SPARTANS  WHO  FELL  AT 
THERMOPYL^. 

Go,  tell  the  Spartans,  thou  that  passest  by, 
That  here  obedient  to  their  laws  we  lie. 

William  Lisle  Bowles. 

BACCHYLIDES,  450  b.  c. 

PRAISE  OF  PEACE. 

To  mortal  men  Peace  giveth  these  good  things  : 
Wealth,  and  the  flowers  of  honey-throated  song  ; 

The  flame  that  sjjrings 
On  carven  altars  from  fat  sheep  and  kine, 
Slain  to  the  gods  in  heaven  ;  and,  all  day  long. 
Games  for  glad  youths,  and  flutes,  and  wreaths,  and 

circling  wine. 
Then  in  the  steely  shield  swart  spiders  weave 

Their  web  and  dusky  woof : 
Rust  to  the  pointed  spear  and  sword  doth  cleave ; 
The  brazen  trump  sounds  no  alarms ; 
Nor  is  sleep  harried  from  our  eyes  aloof, 
But  with  sweet  rest  my  bosom  warms  : 
The  streets  are  thronged  with  lovely  men  and  young. 
And  hymns  in  praise  of  boys  like  flames  to  heaven 

are  flung. 

J.  A.  Symonds. 


CALLISTRATUS  —  HYBRIAS.  127 

CALLISTRATUS. 

PATRIOTIC  SONG. 
I  'll  wreathe  my  sword  in  myrtle  bough, 
The  sword  that  laid  the  tyrant  low, 
When  patriots,  burning  to  be  free, 
To  Athens  gave  equahty. 

Harmodius,  hail !  though  reft  of  breath, 
Thou  ne'er  shalt  feel  the  stroke  of  death ! 
The  heroes'  happy  isles  shall  be 
The  bright  abode  allotted  thee. 

I  '11  wreathe  my  sword  in  myrtle  bough, 
The  sword  that  laid  Hipparchus  low, 
When  at  Athena's  adverse  fane 
He  knelt,  and  never  rose  again. 

While  Freedom's  name  is  understood, 
You  shall  delight  the  wise  and  good  ; 
You  dared  to  set  your  country  free, 
And  gave  her  laws  equality. 

Br.  Wellesley  (Anthologia). 

HYBRIAS,   THE  CRETAN. 

SOLDIER'S  §ONG. 

The  wealth  I  have  is  my  sword  and  spear. 
And  the  fence  I  fight  with,  my  buckler  fair ; 
With  these,  the  lord  of  all,  I  go  ; 
With  these  I  plough,  with  these  I  sow ; 


128  EARLY  LYRIC  AND  ELEGIAC. 

Witli  these  I  tread  tlie  sweet  red  wine 
From  grapes  and  vats  that  never  were  mine  ; 
With  these,  albeit  no  varlets  I  fee, 
Wherever  I  come,  men  lackey  me. 

For  the  knaves  are  afeard  of  sword  and  spear, 
And  the  fence  I  fight  with,  my  buckler  fair  ; 
And  so  at  my  knees  they  humbly  fall, 
Bringmg  me  all  and  giving  me  all ; 
And  they  fawn  upon  me  because  of  my  sword, 
And  because  of  my  spear  they  call  me  lord ; 
For  wealth  unbounded  is  sword  and  spear. 
And  the  fence  I  fight  with,  my  buckler  fair. 

Edwin  Arnold. 

ANONYMOUS. 

SWALLOW'S  SONG. 

She  is  here,  she  is  here,  the  swallow ! 
Fair  seasons  bringing,  fair  years  to  follow  ! 

Her  belly  is  white, 

Her  back  black  as  night ! 

From  your  rich  house 

Roll  forth  to  us 

Tarts,  wine,  and  cheese : 

Or  if  not  these, 

Oatmeal  and  barley-cake 

The  swallow  deigns  to  take. 
What  shall  we  have  .'*  or  must  we  hence  away  ? 
Thanks,  if  you  give  ;  if  not,  we  '11  make  you  pay  ! 
The  house-door  hence  we  '11  carry ; 
Nor  shall  the  lintel  tarry  ; 


ANONYMOUS.  129 

From  heai'th  and  home  youi"  wife  we  '11  rob  ; 

She  is  so  small, 
To  take  her  off  will  be  an  easy  job  ! 
Whate'er  you  give,  give  largess  free  ! 
Up  !  open,  open  to  the  swallow's  call ! 
No  grave  old  men,  but  merry  children  we  ! 

J.  A.  Symonds. 

IF  IT   ONLY   WERE   RIGHT. 

If  it  only  were  right,  how  delightful  't  would  be, 

To  open  the  breast  of  a  friend  ; 
And  peep  at  his  heart,  and  replace  it  again, 

And  believe  in  him  then  without  end. 

Arnold. 

DRINK   FROM   MY   CUP. 

Drixk  from  my  cup.  Dear  !  live  my  life  —  be  still 
Young  with  my  youth  !  have  one  heart,  word,  and 

wiU, 
One  love  for  both ;  let  one  wreath  shade  our  eyes  ; 
Be  mad  when  I  am  —  wise  when  I  am  wise. 

Arnold. 

VANITY  OF  LIFE. 

Vain  of  mortal  men  the  strength, 
His  life  of  care  a  weary  length. 
All  his  days  so  few  and  brief, 
Toil  on  toil,  and  grief  on  grief. 
And  still,  where'er  his  course  he  tends, 
Inevitable  death  impends  ;  * 

And  for  the  worst,  and  for  the  best, 
Is  strewn  the  same  dark  couch  of  rest. 

Milman. 


130  EARLY  LYRIC  AND  ELEGIAC. 

THE  BEST  GIFTS. 

The  best  of  gifts  to  mortal  man  is  health ; 

The  next  the  bloom  of  beauty's  matchless  flower  ; 
The  third  is  blameless  and  unf raudful  wealth ; 
The  fourth  with  friends  to  waste  youth's  joyous 
hour. 

Milman. 

ODE  TO  HEALTH. 

O  THOU,  the  first  and  best 

Of  the  Immortal  Blest ; 
0  Health !  how  gladly  would  I  dwell  with  thee, 

Till  my  last  sands  are  run, 

And  my  brief  life  is  done. 
Come  to  my  home,  my  willing  guest  to  be  ! 

If  there  be  joy  in  wealth, 

Or  soft  parental  love. 

Or  the  delicious  stealth 

With  which  young  Aphrodite  winds 
Her  nets  around  her  captives'  willing  minds  ; 
Or  if  aught  else  of  joy  the  gods  bestow. 
Or  sweet  cessation  of  our  toil  and  woe : 

With  thee,  0  blessed  Health, 
All  bloom  in  one  unending  spring, 
And  bliss  where  thou  art  not  is  ever  on  the  wing, 

Milman, 


! 


PINDAR,  522-443  B.C. 
SECOND  OLYMPIAN  ODE. 

FOR  THERON,   KING  OF  AGRIGENTUM,  VICTOR 
IN  THE  CHARIOT-RACE. 

ANTISTROPHE    HI. 

Alone  in  famed  Olympia's  sand 
The  victor's  chaplet  Theron  wore ; 
But  with  him  on  the  Isthmian  strand, 

On  sweet  Castalia's  shore, 
The  verdant  crowns,  the  proud  reward 
Of  victory  his  brother  shared, 

Copartner  in  immortal  praise, 
As  warmed  with  equal  zeal 
The  light-foot  courser's  generous  breed  to  raise, 
And  whirl  around  the  goal  the  fervid  wheel. 
The  painful  strife  Olympia's  wreath  repays  : 

But  wealth  with  nobler  virtue  joined 
The  means  and  fair  occasions  must  procure  ; 

In  glory's  chase  must  aid  the  mind, 
Expense  and  toil  and  danger  to  endure  ; 
With  mingling  rays  they  feed  each  other's  flame. 
And  shine  the  brightest  lamp  in  all  the  sphere  of 
fame. 


132  PINDAR. 

BPODE  in. 
The  happy  mortal,  who  these  treasures  shares, 
Well  knows  what  fate  attends  his  generous  cares  ; 
Knows,  that  beyond  the  verge  of  life  and  light, 
In  the  sad  regions  of  infernal  night, 
The  fierce,  impracticable,  churlish  mind 
Avenoing  gods  and  penal  woes  shall  find  ; 
Where  strict  inquiring  justice  shall  bewray 
The  crimes  committed  in  the  realms  of  day. 
The  impartial  judge  the  rigid  law  declares. 
No  more  to  be  reversed  by  penitence  or  prayers. 

STROPHE    IV. 

But  in  the  happy  fields  of  light, 

Where  Phoebus  with  an  equal  ray 

Illuminates  the  balmy  night, 
And  gUds  the  cloudless  day, 

In  peaceful,  unmolested  joy. 

The  good  their  smiling  hours  employ. 

Them  no  uneasy  wants  constrain 
To  vex  the  ungrateful  soil, 
To  tempt  the  dangers  of  the  billowy  main. 
And  break  their  strength  with  unabating  toil, 
A  f  rail  disastrous  being  to  maintain. 

But  in  their  joyous  calm  abodes. 
The  recompense  of  justice  they  receive  ; 

And  in  the  fellowshii)  of  gods, 
Without  a  tear,  eternal  ages  live. 
Wliile  banished  by  the  fates  from  joy  and  rest, 
Intolerable  woes  the  impious  soul  infest. 


SECOND   OLYMPIAN  ODE.  133 

ANTISTROPHE    IV. 

But  they  who,  in  true  virtue  strong, 

The  third  purgation  can  endure  ; 
And  keep  their  minds  from  fraudful  wrong 

And  guilt's  contagion,  pure  ; 
They  through  the  starry  paths  of  Jove 
To  Saturn's  blissful  seat  remove  : 
Where  fragrant  breezes,  vernal  airs, 

Sweet  children  of  the  main, 
Purge  the  blest  island  from  corroding  cares, 
And  fan  the  bosom  of  each  verdant  plain : 
Whose  fertile  soil  immortal  fruitage  bears  ; 

Trees,  from  whose  flaming  branches  flow, 
Arrayed  in  golden  bloom,  refulgent  beams  ; 

And  flowers  of  golden  hue,  that  blow 
On  the  fresh  borders  of  their  parent  streams. 
These  by  the  blest  in  solemn  ti'iumph  worn, 
Their  unpolluted  hands  and  clustering  locks  adorn. 

EPODE  rv. 

Such  is  the  righteous  will,  the  high  behest 
Of  Rhadamanthus,  ruler  of  the  blest ; 
The  just  assessor  of  the  throne  divine. 
On  which,  high  raised  above  all  gods,  recline. 
Linked  in  the  golden  bands  of  wedded  love, 
The  great  progenitors  of  thundering  Jove. 
There,  in  the  number  of  the  blest  enrolled, 
Live  Cadmus,  PePeus,  heroes  famed  of  old ; 
And  young  Achilles,  to  those  isles  removed. 
Soon  as,  by  Thetis  won,  relenting  Jove  approved. 

Gilbert  West. 


134  PINDAR. 


FOURTH  OLYMPIAN  ODE. 

FOR    PSAUMIS  OF    CAMARINA,  VICTOR  IN  THE 
CHARIOT-RACE. 

Oh,  urging  on  the  tireless  speed 

Of  Thunder's  elemental  steed, 

Lord  of  the  world,  Almighty  Jove  ! 

Since  these  thine  Hours  have  sent  me  forth 

The  witness  of  thy  champions'  worth, 

And  prophet  of  thine  olive  grove  ; 

And  since  the  good  thy  poet  hear, 

And  hold  his  tuneful  message  dear ; 

Saturuian  Lord  of  ^tna  hill ! 

Whose  storm-cemented  rocks  encage 

The  hundred-headed  rebel's  rage  ; 

Accept  with  favorable  wiU 

The  Muses'  gift  of  harmony ; 

The  dance,  tlie  song,  whose  numbers  high 

Forbid  the  hero's  name  to  die, 

A  crown  of  life  abiding  still ! 

\Hark,  round  the  car  of  victory, 
Where  noble  Psaumis  sits  on  high, 

The  cheering  notes  resound  ; 
Who  vows  to  swell  with  added  fame 
His  Camarina's  ancient  name  ; 

With  Pisan  olive  crowned. 
And  thou,  O  father,  hear  his  prayer ! 
For  much  I  praise  the  knightly  care 
^       That  trains  the  warrior  steed  ; 
Nor  less  the  hospitable  hall 


FIRST  PYTHIAN  ODE.  135 

Whose  open  doors  the  stranger  call ;   / 
Yet,  praise  I  Psaumis  most  of  all       / 

For  wise  and  peaceful  rede,         / 
And  patriot-love  of  liberty.  ' 

What":  do  we  weave  the  glbzinglie-2 — -^ "" 

Then  whoso  list  my  truth  to  try, 

The  proof  be  in  the  deed  ! 
To  Lemnos'  laughing  dames  of  yore, 
Such  was  the  proof  Ernicus  bore, 

When,  matchless  in  his  speed, 

All  brazen-armed  the  racer  hoar, 
Victorious  on  the  applauding  shore, 

Sprang  to  the  proffered  meed  ; 
Bowed  to  the  queen  his  wreathM  head : 
*'  Thou  seest  my  limbs  are  light,"  he  said  : 

"  And  lady,  mayst  thou  know, 
That  every  joint  is  firmly  strung. 
And  hand  and  heart  alike  are  young  ; 
Though  treacherous  time  my  locks  among 

Have  strewed  a  summer  snow  !  " 

Reginald  Heber. 

FIRST  PYTHIAN  ODE. 
POWER  OF  MUSIC. 

STROPHE   I. 

Golden  lyre,  that  Phoebus  shares  with  the  Muses 
violet-crowned  ! 
Thee,  when  opes  the  joyous  revel,  our  frolic  feet 
obey. 
And  minstrels  wait  upon  the  sound. 


136  PINDAR. 

While  thy  chords  ring  out  their  preludes,  and 

guide  the  dancers'  way. 
Thou  quenchest  the  bolted  hghtning's  heat, 
And  the  eagle  of  Zeus  on  the  sceptre  sleeps,  and 

closes  his  pinions  fleet. 

ANTISTROPHE    I. 

King  of  birds  !    His  hooked  head  hath  a  darkling 
cloud  o'ercast, 
Sealing  soft  his  eyes.     In  slumber  his  rippling 
back  he  heaves, 
By  thy  sweet  music  fettered  fast. 
Ruthless  Ares'  self  the  muster  of  bristling  lances 
leaves. 
And  gladdens  awhile  his  soul  with  rest. 
For  the  shafts  of  the    Muses  and  Leto's  son  can 
melt  an  immortal's  breast. 

EPODB   I. 

But,  whom  Zeus  loves  not,  back  in  fear  all  senseless 

cower,  as  in  their  ear 
The  sweet  Pierian  voices  sound,  in  earth  or  mon- 
strous Ocean's  round. 
So  he.  Heaven's  foe  that  in  Tartarus  lies. 
The  hundred-headed  Typho,  erst 
In  famed  Cilician  cavern  nurst,  — 
Now,  beyond  Cumse,  pent  below 
Sea  cliffs  of  Sicily,  o'er  his  rough  breast  rise 
.Etna's  pillars,  skyward    soaring,    nurse   of   year- 
long snow ! 

F.  D.  Morice. 


FIFTH  ISTHMIAN   ODE.  137 

FIFTH   ISTHMIAN   ODE. 
VISIT   OF   HERCULES   TO  TELAINION. 

ANTISTROPHE    H. 

'T  WAS  at  the  Island-Chieftain's  lordly  feast 

The  high  heroic  summons  came  — 
Stood  in  the  portal  high  a  godlike  guest. 

No  need  to  name  his  name 
Who  wore  the  lion's  hide,  and  brindled  mane. 

With  eager  cheer,  and  welcome  fain, 

Great  Telamon  the  guest  to  greet 

Reached  forth  a  bowl  of  nectar  sweet, 

A  bowl  all  beauteous  to  behold 
Foaming  with  wine,  and  rough  with  sculptured  gold, 

And  loudly  bade  the  hero  pour 
The  rich  libation  on  the  sacred  floor. 

His  conquering  hands  he  lifted  high. 
And  called  the  Sire,  the  Ruler  of  the  sky. 
"  If  ever  from  my  lips.  Paternal  Jove, 

Thou  heardest  vow  in  love. 

Grant  me,  my  chief,  my  dearest  prayer  ! 
Be  born  of  Eriboea  a  boy, 

His  noble  father's  noble  heir, 
And  crown  his  happy  lot  with  perfect  joy ! 

His  be  the  unconquered  arm  in  fight, 

INIight,  like  this  lion's  might. 
In  Nemea's  vale  which  my  first  prowess  slew  ; 
And  as  his  might,  his  courage  !  "  —  At  the  words, 

Swooped  from- the  sky  the  king  of  birds. 
With  keenest  joy  his  father's  will  lie  knew. 


138  PINDAR. 

Then  sp.ake  he  in  a  prophet's  solemn  tone  : 
"  The  son  thou  cravest  shall  be  thine, 

And  be  his  noble  name,  my  Telamon, 
Called  from  yon  bird  divine. 

Wide  as  the  eagle's  be  his  monarch-sway  ; 
Swoop  he  as  the  eagle  on  his  prey." 

Bishop  of  Salisbury/, 

FRAGMENTS  FROM  PINDAR. 

AN  ECLIPSE   OF  THE  SUN. 
Oh,  why,  thou  Sun,  with  thine  all-seeing  ray 
Beyond  the  range  of  mortal  sight  afar, 
Sovereign  of  every  star, 
Robb'st  thou  the  world,  even  at  the  noon  of  day  ; 
And  makest  darkling  man  in  vain  desire 
The  guiding  light  of  thy  intolerable  fire  ? 
Why,  wandering  down  the  dark  unwonted  way, 
In  darkness  drives  thy  car? 
By  greatest  Jove  I  supplicate 
To  Thebes'  exalted  state. 
Urge  undisastrous  thy  fleet  steeds  divine ! 
O  noblest !      O  thou  universal  sign  ! 
Some  bloody  war  dost  thou  presage, 
Or  withered  harvest  sad,  or  tempest's  blasting  rage  ? 
Or  cruel  strife  destroying  wide  ? 
Or  inroad  of  the  ocean-tide 
Over  the  peaceful  plain  ? 
Or  wintry  frosts,  or  summer  rain 
In  torrent  deluge  sweeping  down  the  vale, 
To  force  from  all  our  youth  the  wild  and  general 
wail  ? 

Milman. 


f> 


HAPPINESS   OF  TEE  DEPARTED.         139 

HAPPINESS  OF  THE  DEPARTED.i 

For  them  the  night  all  through, 

In  that  broad  realm  below, 
The  splendor  of  the  sun  spreads  endless  light ; 

'Mid  rosy  meadows  bright. 
Their  city  of  the  tombs  with  incense-trees, 

And  golden  chalices 

Of  flowers,  and  fruitage  fair, 

Scenting  the  breezy  air, 
Is  laden.     There  with  horses  and  with  play, 
With  games  and  lyres,  they  whUe  the  hours  away. 

On  every  side  around 

Pure  happiness  is  found, 
With  all  the  blooming  beauty  of  the  world ; 

There  fragrant  smoke,  upcurled 
From  altars  where  the  blazing  fire  is  dense 

With  perfumed  frankincense. 

Burned  unto  gods  in  heaven. 

Through  all  the  land  is  driven. 
Making  its  pleasant  places  odorous 
With  scented  gales  and  sweet  airs  amorous. 

J.  A.  Symonds. 

1  Mr.  Symonds  speaks  of  the  above  as  "  the  fragment  of 
that  miffhtv  threnos  of  Pindar's  which  sounds  like  a  trumpet- 
blast  for  immortality,  and,  trampling  under  feet  the  glories 
of  this  world,  reveals  the  gladness  of  the  souls  who  have 
attained  Elysium." 


^SCHYLUS,  525-456  B.  c. 

AGAMEMNON,  1-39. 

THE  WATCHMAN  AT  ARGOS. 

The  Watchman  on  the  Hoof  of  Agamemnon's 
Palace  at  Argos  waiting  for  the  Beacon  Fire 
that  shall  signal  the  Fall  of  Troy. 

Grant,  0  ye  Gods  !  a  respite  from  this  toil : 
Night  after  night,  this  livelong  year,  I  've  sate 
Couched  like  a  watch-dog  on  the  palace  roof 
Of  Atreus'  son,  and  viewed  yon  starry  conclave, 
Those  glorious  dynasts  of  the  sky,  that  bear 
Winter  and  summer  round  to  mortal  men. 
And  still  the  signal  lamp  I  watch,  the  fire 
That  shall  flame  forth  intelligence  from  Troy  — 
The  tidings  of  her  capture.     So  commands 
Our  Queen's  unfeminine  soul,  with  hope  elate. 

And  while  my  night  -  perturbed  and  dew  -  dank 
couch 
I  keep,  b}"  gentle  dreams  unvisited. 
Fear  stiU  usurps  the  place  of  sleep,  nor  leaves 
My  weary  eyes  to  close  in  lasting  slumber. 
Still  as  I  strive  to  guile  the  unquiet  night  — 
Sad  remedy !  with  song  or  carol  gay, 
I  can  but  weep  and  mourn  this  fatal  house. 
Not  as  of  old  with  righteous  wisdom  ruled. 

Come  thou,  my  toils  release !  break  forth,  break 
forth 


AGAMEMNON.         ,  141 

From  darkness,  fiery  messenger  of  joy  ! 

{^Suddenly  a  beacon  light  is  seen  t?i  the  distance. 
All  hail,  thou  glory  of  the  night !  that  blazest 
With  noonday  splendor,  wakening  Argos  up 
To  dance  and  song  for  this  thrice-blest  event ! 

What,  ho  !  what,  ho  ! 
Loud  do  I  cry  to  Agamemnon's  queen, 
Swift  leaping  from  her  bed,  to  shriek  aloud 
Through  all  the  palace  her  exultant  hymn 
To  this  auspicious  lamp,  since  Troy's  proud  walls 
Have  fallen  !     So  tells  yon  blazing  beacon-fire. 

I  the  glad  prelude  will  begin,  and  hail 
This  best  good  fortune  of  our  lord.     The  dice 
Could  cast  no  luckier  throw  than  yon  bright  beacon. 

Oh,  that  this  hand  may  grasp  the  gracious  hand 
Of  Argos'  king,  returning  to  his  home  ! 
But  peace  !  no  more  !  the  seal  is  on  my  lips  ! 
The  palace  self,  could  it  but  find  a  voice. 
Would  speak  from  its  dark  walls !     To  the  under- 
standing 
I  speak  :  to  those  who  understand  not  —  nothing. 

Milman. 

AGAMEMNON,   192-257. 
THE  SACKIFICE  OF  IPHIGENIA.i 

CHOKUS. 

Now  long  and  long  from  wintry  Strymon  blew 
The  weary,  hungry,  anchor-straining  blasts, 

^  bee  Note. 


142  ^SCHYLUS. 

The  winds  that  wandering  seamen  dearly  rue, 

Nor  spared  the  cables  worn  and  groaning  masts  ; 
And,  lingering  on,  in  indolent  delay. 
Slow  wasted  all  the  strength  of  Greece  away. 
But  when  the  shrill-voiced  prophet  'gan  proclaim 

That  remedy  more  dismal  and  more  dread 

Than  the  drear  weather  blackening  overhead, 
And  spoke  in  Artemis'  most  awful  name. 
The  sons  of  Atreus,  'mid  their  armed  jieers. 
Their  sceptres  dashed  to  earth,  and  each  broke  out 

in  tears, 
And  thus  the  elder  king  began  to  say : 

"  Dire  doom  !  to  disobey  the  gods'  commands ! 
More  dire,  my  chUd,  mine  house's  pride,  to  slay, 

Dabbling  in  virgin  blood  a  father's  hands. 

Alas  !  alas  !  which  way  to  fly  ? 
As  base  deserter  quit  the  host, 
The  pride  and  strength  of  our  great  league  all  lost  ? 

Should  I  the  storm-appeasing  rite  deny, 
Wdl  not  their  wrathf uUest  wrath  rage  up  and  swell  ? 
Exact  the  virgin's  blood  ?  —  oh,  would  't  were  o'er 
and  weU !  " 

So  'neath  Necessity's  stern  yoke  he  passed. 

And  his  lost  soul,  with  impious  impulse  veering. 
Surrendered  to  the  accursed  unholy  blast. 

Warped  to  the  dire  extreme  of  human  daring. 
The  frenzy  of  affliction  still 
Maddens,  dire  counselor,  man's  soul  to  ill. 

So  he  endured  to  be  the  pi'iest 

In  that  child-slaughtering  rite  unblest. 


AGAMEMNON.  143 

The  first-fruit  offering  of  that  host 
In  fatal  war  for  a  bad  woman  lost. 

The  prayers,  the  mute  appeal  to  her  hard  sire, 

Her  youth,  her  virgin  beauty. 
Naught  heeded  they,  the  chiefs  for  war  on  fire. 
So  to  the  ministers  of  that  dire  duty 
(First  having  prayed)  the  father  gave  the  sign, 
Like  some  soft  kid,  to  lift  her  to  the  shrine. 

There  lay  she  prone. 

Her  graceful  garments  round  her  thrown ; 

But  first  her  beauteous  mouth  around 
Their  violent  bonds  they  wound. 
With  their  rude  inarticulate  might, 

Lest  her  dread  curse  the  fated  house  should  smite. 

But  she  her  saffron  robe  to  earth  let  fall : 
The  shaft  of  pity  from  her  eye 

Transpierced  that  awful  priesthood  —  one  and  all. 
Lovely  as  in  a  picture  stood  she  by 

As  she  would  speak.     Thus  at  her  father's  feasts 

The  virgin,  'mid  the  reveling  guests, 

Was  wont  with  her  chaste  voice  to  supplicate 

For  her  dear  father  an  auspicious  fate. 

I  saw  no  more  !  to  speak  more  is  not  mine ; 
Not  unfulfilled  was  Cal(;has'  lore  divine. 

Eternal  justice  still  will  bring 

Wisdom  out  of  suffering. 
So  to  the  fond  desire  farewell, 
The  inevitable  future  to  foretell ; 

'T  is  but  our  woe  to  antedate ; 


144  JRSCHYLUS. 

Joint  knit  with  joint,  expands  the  full-formed  fate. 

Yet  at  the  end  of  these  dark  days 
May  prospering  weal  return  at  length  ; 

Thus  in  his  spirit  prays 
He  of  the  Apian  land  the  sole  remaining  strength. 

Milman. 


AGAMEMNON,  281-316. 

THE  BEACON  FIRES. 

Clytemnestra  describes  the  Progress  of  the  Beacon 
Fires  that  carried  the  Tidings  of  the  Fall  of 
Troy. 

A  GLEAM  —  a  gleam  —  from  Ida's  height, 

By  the  Fire-god  sent,  it  came  ; 
From  watch  to  watch  it  leapt,  that  light, 
As  a  rider  rode  the  flame  ! 

It  shot  through  the  startled  sky, 

And  the  torch  of  that  blazing  glory 
Old  Lemnos  caught  on  high, 

On  its  holy  promontory. 
And  sent  it  on,  the  jocund  sign, 
To  Athos,  Mount  of  Jove  divine. 
Wildly  the  while,  it  rose  from  the  isle, 
So  that  the  might  of  the  journeying  Light 

Skimmed  over  the  back  of  the  gleaming  brine  ! 

Farther  and  faster  speeds  it  on. 
Till  the  watch  that  keep  Macistus  steep 
See  it  burst  like  a  blazing  Sun  ! 
Doth  Macistus  sleep 
On  his  tower-clad  steep  ? 
No  !  rapid  and  red  doth  the  wild  fire  sweep  ; 


AGAMEMNON.  145 

It  flashes  afar  on  the  wayward  stream 
Of  the  wild  Euripus,  the  rushing  beam  ! 
It  rouses  the  light  on  Messapion's  height, 
And  they  feed  its  breath  with  the  withered  heath. 
But  it  may  not  stay  ! 
And  away  —  away  — 
It  bounds  in  its  freshening  might. 

Silent  and  soon, 
Like  a  broadened  moon. 
It  passes  in  sheen,  Asopus  green, 
And  bursts  on  Cithaeron  gray  ! 
The  warder  wakes  to  the  Signal-rays, 
And  it  swoops  from  the  hill  with  a  broader  blaze. 
On,  on  the  fiery  Glory  rode  ; 


Thy  lonely  lake,  Gorgopis,  glowed 


To  Megara's  Mount  it  came  ; 
They  feed  it  again 
And  it  streams  amain  — 

A  giant  beard  of  Flame  ! 
The  headland  cliffs  that  darkly  down 
O'er  the  Saronic  waters  frown. 
Are  passed  with  the  Swift  One's  lurid  stride, 
And  the  huge  rock  glares  on  the  glaring  tide. 
With  mightier  march  and  fiercer  power 
It  gained  Arachne's  neighboring  tower ; 
Thence  on  our  Argive  roof  its  rest  it  won, 
Of  Ida's  fire  the  long-descended  Son  ! 

Bright  Harbinger  of  glory  and  of  joy  ! 
So  first  and  last  with  equal  honor  crowned. 
In  solemn  feasts  the  race-torch  circles  round.  — 
And  these  my  heralds  !  —  tliis  my  Sign  of  Peace  ; 


146  ^SCHYLUS. 

Lo  !  while  we  breathe,  the  victor  lords  of  Greece 
Stalk,  in  stern  tumult,  through  the  halls  of  Troy  I 

E.  Bulwer-Lytton. 


AGAMEMNON,  405-474. 
.  THE  WOE  WROUGHT  BY    HELEN. 

CHORtJS. 

And  she,  unto  her  country  and  her  kin 

Leaving  the  clash  of  shields  and  spears  and  arming 

ships. 
And  bearing  unto  Troy  destruction  for  a  dower, 

And  overbold  in  sin, 
Went  fleetly  through  the  gates,  at  midnight  hour. 

Oft,  from  the  prophets'  lips, 
Moaned  out  the  warning  and  the  wail  —  Ah  woe  ! 
Woe  for  the  home,  the  home !  and  for  the  chief- 
tains, woe  ! 

Woe  for  the  bride-bed  warm 
Yet  from  the  lovely  limbs,  the  impress  of  the  form 

Of  her  who  loved  her  lord  awhile  ago ! 
And  woe  for  him  who  stands 
Shamed,  silent,  unreproachful,  stretching  hands 

That  find  her  not,  and  sees,  yet  will  not  see, 
. ,  That  she  is  far  away ! 

And  his  sad  fancy,  yearning  o'er  the  sea, 

Shall  summon  and  recall 
Her  wraith,  once  more  to  queen  it  in  his  hall. 

And  sad  with  many  memories", 
The  fair  cold  beauty  of  each  sculptured  face  — • 

And  all  to  hatefulness  is  turned  their  grace. 


AGAMEMNON.  147 

Seen  blankly  by  forlorn  and  hungering  eyes ! 

And  when  the  night  is  deep, 
Come  visions,  sweet  and  sad,  and  bearing  pain 

Of  hopings  vain  — 
Void,  void  and  vain,  for  scarce  the  sleeping  sight 

Hath  seen  its  old  delight, 
When  through  the  grasps  of  love  that  bid  it  stay 

It  vanishes  away 
On  silent  wings  that  roam  adown  the  ways  of  Sleep  ! 

Such  are  the  sights,  the  sorrows  fell. 
About  our  hearth  —  and  worse,  whereof  I  may  not 
tell. 

But,  all  the  wide  town  o'er. 
Each  home  that  sent  its  master  far  away 

From  Hellas'  shore 
Feels  the  keen  thrill  of  heart,  the  pang  of  loss  to- 
day; 

For,  truth  to  say. 
The  touch  of  bitter  death  is  manifold  ! 
Familiar  was  each  face,  and  dear  as  life, 

That  went  unto  the  war  ; 
But  thither,  whence  a  warrior  went  of  old. 

Doth  naught  return  — 
Only  a  spear  and  sword,  and  ashes  in  an  urn  ! 

For  Ares,  lord  of  strife. 
Who  doth  the  swaying  scales  of  battle  hold, 
War's  money-changer,  giving  dust  for  gold. 

Sends  back,  to  hearts  that  held  them  dear, 
Scant  ash  of  warriors,  wept  with  many  a  tear, 
Light  to  the  hand,  but  heavy  to  the  soul ;] 

Yea,  fills  the  light  urn  full 


148  JiSCHYLUS. 

With  what  survived  the  flame  — 
Death's  dusty  measure  of  a  hero's  frame ! 

*'  Alas  !  "  one  cries,  "  and  yet  alas  again ! 
Our  chief  is  gone,  the  hero  of  the  spear, 

And  hath  not  left  his  peer  !  " 
"  Ah  woe  !  "  another  moans  —  "  my  spouse  is  slain, 

The  death  of  honor,  rolled  in  dust  and  blood. 
Slain  for  a  woman's  sin,  a  false  wife's  shame !  " 

Such  muttered  words  of  bitter  mood 
Rise  against  those  who  went  forth  to  reclaim  ; 
Yea,  jealous  wrath  creeps  on,  against  the  Atrides' 
name ! 

And  others,  far  beneath  the  Ilian  wall. 
Sleep  their  last  sleep  —  the  goodly  chiefs  and  tall, 

Couched  in  the  foeman's  land,  whereon  they  gave 
Their  breath,  and  lords  of  Troy,  each  in  his  Trojan 
grave  ! 

Therefore,  for  each  and  all,  the  city's  breast 

Is  heavy  witli  a  wrath  supjjressed, 

As  deep  and  deadly  as  a  curse  more  loud 

Flung  by  the  common  crowd : 
And,  brooding  deeply,  doth  my  soul  await 

Tidings  of  coming  fate. 
Buried  as  yet  in  darkness'  womb. 
For  not  forgetful  is  the  high  gods'  doom. 

Against  the  sons  of  carnage  :  all  too  long 
Seems  the  unjust  to  prosper  and  be  strong. 

Till  the  dark  Furies  come. 
And  smite  with  stern  reversal  all  his  home, 
Down  into  dim  obstruction  —  he  is  gone^ 


iV, 


AGAMEMNO'^  ^NQ^I ^ r  149 

And  help  and  hope  among  the  lost  is  none. 
O'er  liim  who  vaunteth  an  exceedmg  fame 

Impends  a  woe  condign  ; 
The  vengeful  bolt  upon  his  eyes  doth  flame, 

Sped  from  the  hand  divine. 
This  bliss  be  mine,  ungrudged  of  God  to  feel, 

To  tread  no  city  to  the  dust, 

Nor  see  my  own  life  thrust 
Down  to  a  slave's  estate  beneath  another's  heel ! 

E.  D.  A.  Morshead. 

AGAMEMNON,  551-579. 

SUFFERINGS  OF   THE    GREEKS   DURING  THE 
TROJAN  WAR. 

HERALD. 

'T  IS  well !  all  well !  in  the  long  range  of  time. 
One    man  may  say,  things   turn    out   right,  while 

others 
Heap  them  with   blame.     Who,  but   the   gods   in 

heaven, 
Lives  through  all  ages  without  sin  or  woe  ? 

If  I  should  tell  our  toils  and  weary  watchings. 
Rare  landings,  sleep  snatched  on  the  hard  planks, 

what  hour 
Had  not  its  dreary  lot  of  wretchedness  ? 
On  land  worse  sufferings  than  the  worst  at  sea. 
Our  beds  were  strewn  under  the  hostile  walls ; 
And  from  the  skies,  and  from  the  fenny  land, 
Came  dripping  the  chill  dews,  rotting  our  clothes, 
Matting  our  hair,  like  hides  of  shaggy  beasts. 
Our  winters  shall  I  tell,  when  the  bleak  cold 


150  ^SCBYLUS. 

Intolerable,  clown  from  Ida's  snows 

Came  rushing ;  even  the  birds  fell  dead  around  us. 

Or  summer  heats,  when  on  his  midday  couch 

Heavily  fell  the  waveless  sea,  no  breath 

Stirring  the  sultry  air.     Why  grieve  we  now  ? 

All  is  gone  by  !  the  toils  all  o'er  !  the  dead  — 

No  thought  have  they  of  rising  from  their  graves ! 

Why  count  the  suffering  of  those  who  have  fallen  ? 

The  living  only,  fickle  fortune's  wrath 

Afflicts  with  grief.     I  to  calamity 

Have  bid  a  long  farewell.     Of  the  Argive  host 

To  us,  the  few  survivors,  our  rich  gains 

Weigh  down  in  the  scale  our  poor  uncounted  losses. 

In  the  face  of  the  noonday  sun  we  make  our  boast, 

Flying  abroad  over  the  sea  and  land, 

That  now  the  Argive  host  hath  taken  Troy ; 

And  in  the  ancestral  temples  of  their  gods 

Have  nailed  the  spoils  for  our  eternal  glory. 

Milman. 

AGAMEMNON,  782-974. 

AGAMEMNON'S  RETURN  HOME  AFTER  THE 
FALL   OF  TROY. 

Entering,  He  is  welcomed  by  the  Chorus  {Elders 
of  Argos)  in  Front  of  his  Palace. 

CHORUS. 

Hail,  king  of  Atreus'  race  renowned, 
Who  Troy  has  leveled  with  the  ground ! 
How  to  address  thee  —  how  adore  ; 
Nor  with  exceeding  praise  run  o'er. 


AGAMEMNON.  151 

Nor  turning  short,  pass  by  too  light 

The  mark  and  standard  of  thy  might ! 

Most  men  do  justice'  law  transgress, 

Being  than  seeming  honoring  less. 

And  every  one  is  prompt  of  will 

To  groan  over  another's  ill ; 

So  grief  its  prudent  temperance  keep, 

Nor  sink  into  the  heart  too  deep, 

As  with  mock  sympathy  to  guile, 

Force  on  the  face  the  unwilling  smile. 

Who  knows  his  sheep,  the  shepherd  good, 

The  eye  of  man  will  ne'er  delude, 

Seeking  his  friend's  blind  heart  to  move 

With  a  faint,  thin,  and  watery  love. 
Thou  when,  for  sake  of  Helen  lost, 

Thou  didst  array  that  mighty  host, 

Wert  written  (naught  may  I  disguise), 

Within  my  books  as  most  unwise. 

Handling  with  impulse  rash  and  blind 

The  helm  of  thy  misguided  mind. 

But  no  light-minded  counselor  now 

To  that  bold  army  seemest  thou  — 

The  sagest  and  the  truest  friend. 

Who  hast  brought  their  toils  to  this  proud  end. 

For  evermore  will  Time  reveal 

Those  who  with  prescient  judgment  wise, 
Nor  missing  golden  oi)portunities, 

Administer  for  public  good  the  public  weal. 

AGAMEMNON. 

'T  is  meet  that  Argos  and  my  country's  gods 
First  I  salute,  gracious  accomplices 


152  ^SCHYLUS. 

In  my  return,  and  the  just  vengeance  wrought 
On  Priam's  city.     The  great  gods  the  cause 
Judge  not  from  pleaders'  subtle  rhetoric, 
But  cast  their  suffrage-balls  with  one  consent 
Into  the  bloody  urn   that  doomed  to  ruin 
Ilion,  to  one  wide  slaughter  all  her  sons  ; 
And  in  the  opposite  urn  was  only  Hope 
Wild-grasping  with  her  clenched  and  unfilled  hands. 

Now  captive  Troy  is  one  vast  cloud  of  smoke  ; 
Howls  Ate's  hurricane,  the  dying  embers 
Steam  up  with  the  fat  reek  of  burning  riches. 
For  this  our  unforgetting  thanks  we  pay 
To  the  great  gods,  since  we  our  hunters'  toils 
With  one  wide  sweep  have  o'er  the  city  cast. 
The  Argive  dragon,  for  that  woman's  sake, 

Hath  utterly  razed  to  earth  once  famous  Troy. 
Foaled  by  the  fatal  horse,  the  shielded  host, 

At  the  Pleiads'  setting,  leaped  terrific  forth ; 

The  roaring  lion  rampant  o'er  the  towers 

Sprang,  glutting  his  fierce  maw  with  kingly  blood. 
Such  is  my  prelude  to  the  immortal  gods, 

But  for  the  rest  my  thoughts  are  as  yoiu*  thoughts. 

The  same  aver  I,  and  do  fully  assent. 

Few,  few  are  born  with  that  great  gift,  to  hail 

Unenvying  their  friends'  prosperity. 

Envy,  slow  poison  gnawing  at  the  heart. 

Doubles  the  anguish  of  the  man  diseased ; 

By  his  own  woes  weighed  heavily  down,  he  groans 

Gazing  at  the  happiness  before  his  doors. 

From  sad  experience  of  mankind  I  speak, 

To  human  life  holding  the  mirror  up. 

Even  as  the  shadow  of  a  shade  I  saw 


AGAMEMNON.  153 

Those  that  once  seemed  my  dearest,  best  of  friends. 

Only  Ulysses,  who  against  his  will 

Set  sail,  my  one  true  yokemate,  by  my  side 

Ran  in  the  harness  of  the  battle-car. 

But  speak  I  of  the  living  or  the  dead. 

Passes,  alas  !  my  knowledge. 

For  the  city 
And  for  our  gods  holding  our  festal  games 
In  full  assembly,  take  we  counsel  now ; 
Take  counsel  how  what  now  stands  well  may  stand 
Unshaken  even  unto  the  end  of  time ; 
And  wheresoe'er  needs  healing  remedy. 
By  cautery  or  incision,  skillful  and  keen, 
We  will  divert  the  growing  slow  disease. 

Enter  we  now  our  palace'  hallowed  hearths. 
Our  gods  propitiated,  who  to  far  lands 
Sent  us,  and  brought  us  back  ;  and  Victory, 
AVho  hath  tracked  our  steps,  abide  with  us  forever ! 

Clytemnestra  enters. 

CLTTEMNESTKA. 

Men  !  Citizens  !  Elders  of  Argos'  state  ! 

I  blush  not  in  your  presence  to  pour  forth 

All  a  wife's  fondness  for  her  lord  beloved  ; 

For  timorous  bashfulness  soon  dies  away 

Before  familiar  faces.     Not  from  others 

Learning,  but  only  from  mine  own  sad  knowledge 

Will  I  describe  my  solitary  life. 

While  he  was  far  away  under  Troy's  walls. 

And  first,  what  monstrous  misery  to  sit, 

A  desolate  woman  in  a  lonely  house  ! 

No  man  in  the  wide  palace,  listening  still 


154  yESCHYLUS. 

To  rumors  strange,  confused,  and  contrary. 
First  comes  a  melancholy  messenger, 
Another  then,  with  tidings  worse  and  worse, 
Shrieking  their  dreary  tale  through  the  lone  cham- 
bers : 
And  thus  poured  down  the  news  upon  the  house  — 

"  The  wounded  man  had  had  his  body  pierced 
With  gaping  holes  as  many  as  in  a  net ;  " 
Then  "  he  was  dead,"  so  swelled  and  grew  the  tale. 
A  second  triple-bodied  Geryon,  he 
(Of  Geryon  I  speak  living  on  earth. 
Not  Geryon  in  the  infernal  realms  below) 
Three  deaths  had  suffered  in  his  threefold  form, 
And  thence  been  wrapped  in  a  winding  sheet  of 

earth. 
While  these  conflicting  rumors  thronged  around. 
Others  the  desperate  halter  round  my  neck, 
By  which  I  hung,  loosening  with  friendly  hand, 
Brought  me  with  gentle  violence  back  to  life. 
And  all  the  while  our  boy,  as  had  been  meet  — 
He,  seal  and  pledge  of  our  affianced  troth  — 
Orestes,  was  not  by  me.     Marvel  not. 
That  child,  the  Phoclan  Strophius,  once  our  foe. 
Now  our  close  friend,  nurses  within  his  palace. 
He  the  dark  choice  of  evil  that  lay  before  me 
Showed,    prophet-like  —  thy    peril    'neath    Troy's 

walls. 
Or  democratic  anarchy  at  home, 
The  senate  overthrown,  and  the  mad  people. 
As  wont  with  men,  trampling  upon  the  fallen. 
Such  was  the  warning  —  warning  that  deceived  not 
To  me  the  gushing  fountains  of  my  tears 


AGAMEMNON.  155 

Were  utterly  dried  up,  no  drop  would  fall. 
Mine  eyes  grew  dim  upon  my  late-sought  bed, 
Weeping,  and  watching  the  neglected  lamps 
Paling  their  feebler  light ;  and  in  my  dreams 
I  woke  at  the  shrill  buzzing  of  the  gnats ; 
I  saw  thee  suffering  woes  more  long  and  sad 
Than  could  be  crowded  in  my  hours  of  sleep. 

I,  that  have  borne  all  this  with  soul  unblenched, 
May  now  address  toy  lord  in  happier  phrase. 
Thou,  watchdog  of  the  unattainted  fold ! 
The  mainstay  that  secures  the  straining  ship ! 
The  firm-based  pillar,  bearing  the  lofty  roof! 

The  only  son  to  childless  father  born  ! 

Land  by  the  lost  despairing  sailor  seen ! 

Day  beaming  beautiful  after  fierce  storms ! 

Cool  fountain  to  the  thirsty  traveler  ! 

And,  oh !  what  bliss  to  be  dehvered  thus 

From  the  hard  bondage  of  necessity. 

None  grudge  us  now  our  joy !     For  woe  enough 

We  have  endured. 

And  now,  O  most  beloved, 

Alight  thou  from  thy  chariot. 

[  J.S  he  is  about  to  step  down. 

Stay,  nor  set 

On  the  bare  earth,  0  King,  thy  hallowed  foot ; 

That  which  hath  trampled  upon  ruined  Troy. 

Why  tarry  ye,  my  damsels  ?     'T  is  your  office 

To  strew  the  path  with  gorgeous  carjjetings ; 

Like  purple  pavement  rich  be  all  his  way  ; 

That  justice  to  his  house  may  lead  him  in  — 

The  house  he  little  dreamed  of.     All  the  rest 

Leave  to  my  care  that  may  not  sleep.     So  please 

The  gods,  what 's  justly  destined  shall  be  done. 


156  JUSCHYLUS. 

AGAMEMNON. 

Daughter  of  Leda,  guardian  of  mine  house ! 
Of  my  long  absence  thou  hast  spoken  well, 
But  hast  been  somewhat  lavish  of  thy  praise. 
Praise  in  due  measure  and  discreet  is  well, 
Yet  may  that  guerdon  come  from  others  best. 
Treat  me  not  like  a  soft  and  delicate  woman, 
Nor,  gazing  open-mouthed,  grovelhng  on  earth 
Like  a  barbarian,  raise  discordant  cry  ; 
Nor,  strewing  with  bright  tapestries  my  way, 
Make  me  an  envy  to  all-jealous  Heaven. 
These  are  the  proud  prerogatives  of  the  gods ; 
That  mortals    thus  should  walk  on    rich  embroid- 
eries 
Beseems  not :  do  it  I  cannot  without  awe. 
As  a  man  honor  me,  not  as  a  god  ! 
Though  she  wipe  not  her  feet  on  carpetings, 
Nor  variegated  garments  fine,  Fame  lifts 
High  her  clear  voice.     To  be  of  humble  mind 
Is  God's  best  gift.     Blessed  is  only  he 
Who  in  unbroken  happiness  ends  his  days. 
Still  may  I  prosper,  thus  not  overbold. 

CLTTEMNESTKA. 

Say  ye  not  so  ;  nor  cross  my  purpose  thus. 

AGAMEMNON. 

Think  not  that  I  will  change  my  fixed  resolve. 

CLYTEMNESTBA. 

Hast  thou  thus  sworn  in  awe  of  the  great  gods  ? 


AGAMEMNON.  157 

AGAMEMNON. 

If  man  e'er  knew  his  purpose,  know  I  mine. 

CLTTEMNESTRA. 

Had  Priam  conquered,  what  had  Priam  done  ? 

AGAMEMNON. 

He  would  have  trod  on  gorgeous  carpetings. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

So,  cower  not  thou  before  the  bLame  of  men. 

AGAMEMNON. 

The  people's  voice  bears  with  it  mighty  power. 

CLTTEMNESTKA- 

He  that 's  not  envied  never  is  admired. 

AGAMEMNON. 

'T  is  not  a  woman's  part  to  love  a  fray. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

The  prosperous  should  condescend  to  yield. 

AGAMEMNON. 

Wilt  thou  be  conqueress  in  this  gentle  strife  ? 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Be  thou  persuaded,  yield  of  thy  own  free  will ! 

AGAMEMNON. 

If  thou  wilt  have  it  so,  then  let  some  slave 
Loose  instantly  the  sandals  from  my  feet, 


158  ^SCHTLUS. 

Lest  some  dread  god  with  jealous  eye  behold  me 
Walking  like  them  upon  the  sea-dipped  purple. 
It  were  great  shame  to  pamper  one's  own  body, 
Trampling  on  riches  with  proud  prodigal  feet, 
And  tapestries  with  untold  silver  bought. 
So  much  for  this. 

But  thou  this  stranger  maid  ^ 
Lead  in  with  gracious  welcome.     The  high  gods 
On  him  who  rules  his  slaves  with  gentleness  {! 

Look  gracious  :  for  to  bear  the  yoke  of  slavery  ' 

Is  a  sore  trial  to  the  struggling  will.  I 

And  she,  of  our  rich  spoils  the  chosen  flower,  jl 

The  army's  precious  gift,  follows  me  here.  !( 

And  since  to  yield  to  thee  I  am  compelled,  li 

Walking  on  purple,  enter  I  the  palace.  \ 

CLYTEanrESTRA.  '] 

Who  shall  go  quench  the  prodigal  sea,  that  stiU  i 

Teems  with  bright  purple,  worth  its  weight  in  silver,  ! 

The  ever-fresh  and  never-fading  dye  ii 

That  steeps  our  robes  in  everlasting  colors  ?  ;; 

Of  these,  O  king,  our  house  hath  ample  store  —  |! 

Our  house  that  knows  not  vulgar  poverty.  jj 

Of  many  as  rich  the  trampling  in  the  dust  j 

I  would  have  vowed,  if  the  oracular  shrine,  i 

At  which  I  knelt,  had  uttered  such  decree,  j 

Working  the  ransom  for  thy  precious  life.  j 

Be  the  root  sound,  upsprings  the  full-leaved  tree,  i 

Offering  cool  shade  beneath  the  dog-star  heat.  j 

So  as  thou  cam'st  to  the  domestic  hearth,  'j 

'T  was  as  a  sunny  warmth  in  winter  time,  I, 

1  His  captive,  the  Trojan  Cassandra. 


AGAMEMNON.  159 

When  Jove  the  sharp  grape  ripens  to  rich  wine : 
And  a  delicious  freshness  fills  the  house, 
The  prime  of  men  moving  thi-ough  the  long  cham- 
bers. 
Jove  !  Jove  !  that  all  things  perfectest,  my  prayers 
Bring  to  perfection  !  to  perfection  bring 
What  thou  hast  yet  to  do  !     Be  this  thy  care. 

Milman. 

AGAMEMNON,  1295-1517. 
THE  MURDER  OF  AGAMEMNON.^ 

CHORUS. 

O  WOEFULLEST  of  women,  wise  as  woeful ! 
Thy  speech  hath  wandered  far.     But  if  in  truth 
Thou  dost  foresee  thy  death,  why,  like  a  heifer, 
God-driven,  to  the  altar  dost  thou  boldly  tread  ? 

CASSANDRA. 

There  's  no  escape.     What  gain  I  by  delay  ? 

CHORUS. 

Who  lingers  still  wins  something  by  delay. 

CASSANDRA. 

My  day  is  come  ;  flight  were  but  little  gain. 

CH0KU8. 

Thou  'It  suffer  more  by  being  overbold. 

CASSANDRA. 

A  glorious  death  is  mortals'  noblest  grace. 

^  See  Note. 


IGO  JESCHYLUS. 

CHOEUS. 

The  happy  speak  not  thus.     That  ne'er  was  heard. 

CASSANDRA. 

Oh  !  Oh  !  my  father  !  Oh  thy  vahant  sons  ! 

^Starting  hack  from  the  palace  door. 

CHORUS. 

How  now  !  what  terror  makes  thee  thus  start  back  ? 

« 

CASSANDRA. 

Foh!  foh! 

CHORUS. 

Why  this  foh,  foh  !  unless  thou  art  sick  at  heart  ? 

CASSANDRA. 

Foh  !  how  the  house  smells  with  the  reek  of  blood  ! 

CHORUS. 

'T  is  but  the  smell  of  the  sacrificial  fires  ! 

CASSANDRA. 

It  is  the  vapor  oozing  from  a  tomb. 

CHORUS. 

Sooth,  'tis  no  smell  of  Syrian  incense  rich. 

CASSANDRA  (at  the  portal). 
Well,  then  I  go  to  shriek  throughout  the  palace 
Mine  own  and  Agamemnon's  bloody  fate. 
Enough  of   life  !  enough  !     Strangers  !  good  stran- 
■    gers ! 


AGAMEMNON.  161 

I  am  not  screaming  like  a  timorous  bird 
That  hides  itself  behind  the  bush  in  vain ! 
To  one  about  to  die,  bear  ye  this  witness  — 
When  that  a  woman  dies  for  me  a  woman, 
A  man  Ul-wedded  for  a  murdered  man, 
Remember  well  the  expiring  stranger's  words  ! 

CHORUS. 

Sad  one !  I  pity  thy  foreboded  fate. 

CASSANDRA. 

Yet  once  more  would  I  speak  in  sober  speech, 
Or  ere  I  utter  mine  own  funeral  wail. 
And  thee  do  I  conjure,  all-seeing  Sun  ! 
Gazing  upon  thy  light  for  the  last  time  ; 
Even  fate  as  terrible,  as  dire  as  this, 
May  my  avengers  on  my  murderers  wi'eak  ; 
On  both  the  murderers  of  a  dying  slave. 
An  easy  victim  in  their  mastering  hand  ! 
Oh,  our  poor  mortal  state  !  the  happiest 
A  shadow  turns  to  grief  —  the  unfortunate  ! 
A  wet  sponge  with  one  touch  washes  all  out 
The  picture  :  far  more  pitiable  these. 

[Enters  the  palace. 

CHORUS. 

Of  the  gifts  that  from  good  fortune  fall 

Insatiate  still  are  mortals  all ; 

At  whom  all  fingers  point,  the  great  — 

Who  warns  men  from  his  palace  gate, 

And  says,  "  Thou  mayst  not  enter  here  ;  "  — 

To  him,  the  monarch  standing  near, 


162  ^SCHYLUS. 

Did  the  blest  gods  the  boon  bestow, 

Old  Priam's  city  to  o'erthrow. 

Of  all  the  gods  we  saw  him  come 

Most  honored  to  his  native  home. 

But  if  the  forfeit  he  repays, 

For  the  foul  crimes  of  ancient  days, 

And  vengeance  for  the  olden  dead 

Be  heaped  on  his  devoted  head  ; 
What  mortal  would  not  make  his  prayer 
That  he  were  born  beneath  a  lowlier  star  ? 

AGAMEMNON  (within). 

Woe  's  me,  I  'm   stabbed  !  stabbed  with  a  mortal 
blow ! 

CHORUS. 

Silence  !  who  is  he  that 's  shouting  —  stricken  by  a 
mortal  stroke  ? 

AGAMEMNON. 

Woe  's  me  !  woe  's  me  !  again  !  another  blow  ! 

CHOKUS. 

From  the  groaning  of  the  monarch  seems  it  that  the 
deed  is  done. 

CHORUS. 

Let  us  join  in  instant  counsel  what  were  safest  to 
be  done. 


[The  scene  opens,  disclosing  Clytemnestra  standing  by  the 
dead  body  of  Agamemnon.] 


AGAMEMNON.  163 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

'T  was  I  that  slew  him  ! 
Thus,  thus,  I  did  it  —  naught  will  I  deny  — 
That  he  could  nor  defend  himself,  nor  'scape. 
As  round  the  fish  the  inextricable  net 
Closes,  in  his  rich  garments'  fatal  wealth 
I  wrapped  him.     Then  once,  twice,  I  smote  him 

home. 
Twice  groaned  he,  then  stretched  out  his  failing 

limbs  ; 
And  as  he  lay  I  added  a  third  blow ; 
And  unto  Hades,  the  dark  god  below, 
Warden  of  the  dead,  made  my  thanksgiving  vow. 
So,  fallen  thus,  he  breathed  out  his  proud  life.^ 


CHORUS. 

Alas  !  alas ! 
My  king  !  my  king  !  how  shall  I  mourn  for  thee  ? 
How  my  fond  heart  speak  all  its  agony  ? 

There  liest  thou  ;  thy  cold  corpse  around 

The  subtle  spider's  web  is  wound  ; 

Thy  noble  life  thou  didst  outbreathe 

By  a  most  impious  and  unholy  death. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

And  dar'st  thou  say  the  deed  was  mine  ? 
Ill  does  thy  erring  speech  divine. 
Say  not  't  was  Agamemnon's  wife 
That  cut  so  short  his  fated  life. 

1  Compare  the  account  of  his  death  in  the  Odyssey,  as  told 
by  himself.     See  page  81. 


164  ^SCHYLUS. 

It  was  the  Alastor,  whose  dread  mien 

Took  up  the  likeness  of  the  queen. 

Of  that  dark  house  't  was  he,  't  was  he, 

The  curse  and  awful  Destiny  ; 

(Where,  father  of  that  race  unblest. 

Old  Atreus  held  his  cannibal  feast ;) 
"Wreaking  for  that  dread  crime  the  vengeance  due, 
The  full-grown  man  for  those  poor  babes  he  slew. 

SEMICHORUS. 

Who  shall  absolve  thee  from  the  guilt 
Of  that  red  blood  so  foully  spilt  ? 
How,  how  the  Alastor  w6uldst  thou  name, 
Accomplice  in  that  deed  of  shame  ? 
Ancient  hereditary  foe 
Of  all  that  house  of  guilt  and  woe, 
(Borne  on  the  overwhelming  flood, 
Rushing  amain,  of  kindred  blood 
Like  clashing  tides  of  meeting  water,) 
Bui'st  Ares  forth,  black  god  of  slaughter ; 
On  speeds  he  furious,  o'er  the  rest, 
Melting  the  congealed  gore  of  the  child-devouring 
feast. 

CHORUS. 

Alas  !  alas  !  how  shall  I  mourn  for  thee  ? 
How  my  fond  heart  speak  all  its  agony  ? 
There  liest  thou  ;  thy  cold  corpse  around 
The  subtle  spider's  web  is  wound  ; 
Thy  noble  life  thou  didst  outbreathe 
By  a  most  impious  and  unholy  death. 

Milman, 


CHOEFUORI.  165 


CHOEPHORI,^  20-83. 

THE  CHORUS  MOUEN  THE  FATE  OF  AGA- 
iVlEMNON. 

Obedient  to  my  Queen's  command, 
With  pure  libations  in  my  hand, 

The  regal  halls  I  leave  : 
The  shredded  robe,  the  oft-dealt  blow. 
The  bleeding  cheek,  whose  furrows  show 
The  handy-work  of  frantic  woe. 

Bear  witness  how  I  grieve. 

Torn  is  the  linen  vest, 

That  veiled  my  snowy  breast ; 
And  smiles  around  my  lips  no  longer  play ; 

My  heart,  with  care  oppressed. 
Is  fed  on  agony  from  day  to  day. 
A  cry  the  calm  of  midnight  broke  ; 
From  the  dark  chambers  Terror  spoke  ; 
Troubler  of  sleep  !  —  with  ghastly  stare, 
"With  breath  of  wrath,  and  bristling  hair. 
And  accent  shrill  that  pierced  the  ear. 
Loud  raved  the  dream-inspiring  Seer  ! 
Right  heavily  he  sate,  I  ween. 
Above  the  chambers  of  the  Queen. 
The  interpreters,  their  troth  who  plight 
To  spell  the  visions  of  the  night, 
From  God  an  answer  gave  : 
"  Sent  forth  by  murdered  man,"  they  said, 
"  That  form,  to  haunt  the  murderer's  bed, 

Had  issued  from  the  grave." 
1  Libation  Bearers.     See  Note. 


IQQ  JlSCHYLUS. 

The  impious  Queen  in  vain  these  offerings  sends, 
To  turn  aside  the  ill  that  boding  dream  portends. 

Earth !  her  graceless  gifts  I  pour  thee  ! 

Earth,  my  mother  !  I  adore  thee  : 

Yet  scarce  my  tongue  thy  power  may  dare 

To  mock  with  ineffectual  prayer  : 

Can  aught  remove  the  murderer's  guilt? 

Can  aught  atone  for  life-blood  spilt  ? 

Halls,  o'er  whelmed  in  ruin  rude ! 

Hearth,  where  countless  sorrows  brood  ! 

Round  you,  now  my  lord  is  slain, 

Sunless,  hateful  shadows  reign  ; 

Loyal  Faith  that  once  possessed 

Every  listening  subject's  breast. 

Faith,  whose  firmness  seemed  to  mock 

War  and  foul  sedition's  shock. 

Hath  passed  away  ;  —  the  cravens  bow 

Their  necks  beneath  usurpers  now. 

Man  to  success  still  court  will  pay, 

Still  honor  Fortune's  fickle  sway, 

Exalt  her  to  the  blest  abodes, 

A  goddess  and  above  the  gods. 

But  Justice  holds  her  equal  scales 

With  ever-waking  eye  ; 
O'er  some  her  vengeful  might  prevails, 

When  their  life's  sun  is  high ; 
On  some  her  vigorous  judgments  light, 
In  that  dread  pause  'twixt  day  and  night, 

Life's  closing  twilight  hour  ; 
Round  some,  ere  yet  they  meet  their  doom, 


CHOEPHORI.  167 

Is  shed  the  silence  of  the  tomb, 

The  eternal  shadows  lower  ; 
But  soon  as  once  the  genial  plain 
Has  drunk  the  life-blood  of  the  slain. 
Indelible  the  spots  remain, 

And  aye  for  vengeance  call, 
Till  racking  pangs  of  piercing  pain 

Upon  the  guilty  fall. 
"What  balm  for  him  shall  potent  prove, 
Who  breaks  the  ties  of  wedded  love  ? 
And  though  all  streams  united  gave 
The  treasures  of  their  limpid  wave, 

To  purify  from  gore  ; 
The  hand,  polluted  once  with  blood, 
Though  washed  in  evei'y  silver  flood, 

Is  foul  for  evermore  ! 

Hard  Fate  is  mine,  since  that  dark  day, 

Which  girt  my  home  with  war's  array, 

And  bore  me  from  my  father's  hall, 

To  pine  afar,  a  captive  thrall ; 

Hard  Fate  !  to  yield  to  Heaven's  decree. 

And  what  I  am  not,  seem  to  be  ; 

Dissemble  hatred,  and  control 

The  bitter  workings  of  the  soul  ; 

E'en  to  injustice  feign  consent ; 

Detest  the  wrong,  but  not  prevent : 

Yet  oft  I  veil  my  face,  to  weep 

For  those  who  unavenged  sleep ; 

Oft  for  my  slaughtered  lord  I  mourn, 

Chilled  by  the  frost  of  grief,  with  secret  anguish 

torn  ! 

Joseph  Anstice. 


168  jESCHylus. 


THE  EUMENIDES,  307-396. 

SONG  OF  THE  FURIES. 
Up  and  lead  the  dance  of  Fate  ! 
Lift  the  song  that  mortals  hate ! 
Tell  what  rights  are  ours  on  earth, 
Over  all  of  human  birth. 
Swift  of  foot  to  avenge  are  we  ! 

He  whose  hands  are  clean  and  pure, 
Naught  our  wrath  to  dread  hath  he ; 

Calm  his  cloudless  days  endure. 
But  the  man  that  seeks  to  hide 

Like  him,^  his  gore-bedewed  hands, 
Witnesses  to  them  that  died, 
The  blood  avengers  at  his  side, 

The  Furies'  troop  forever  stands. 

O'er  our  victim  come  begin  ! 

Come,  the  incantation  sing. 

Frantic  all  and  maddening. 
To  the  heart  a  brand  of  fire. 
The  Furies'  hymn. 

That  which  chains  the  senses  dim, 
Tuneless  to  the  gentle  lyre. 

Withering  the  soul  within. 

....♦••• 

The  pride  of  all  of  human  birth. 
All  glorious  in  the  eye  of  day. 
Dishonored  slowly  melts  away, 

Trod  down  and  trampled  to  the  earth, 
^  Orestes. 


\ 


THE  SEVEN  AGAINST  THEBES.  169 

Whene'er  our  dark-stoled  troop  advances, 
Whene'er  our  feet  lead  on  the  dismal  dances. 


For  light  our  footsteps  are, 
And  perfect  is  our  might, 
Awful  remembrancers  of  guilt  and  crime. 

Implacable  to  mortal  prayer, 
Far  from  the  gods,  unhonored,  and  heaven's  light, 

We  hold  our  voiceless  dwellings  dread, 
All  unapproached  by  Hving  or  by  dead. 

What  mortal  feels  not  awe, 

Nor  trembles  at  our  name. 

Hearing  our  fate-appointed  power  sublime, 

Fixed  by  the  eternal  law. 

For  old  our  oflBce,  and  our  fame, 

Might  never  yet  of  its  due  honors  fail. 

Though  "neath   the  earth    our  realm  in  unsunned 

regions  pale. 

Milman. 

THE  SEVEN  AGAINST  THEBES,  848-860. 

LAAIENT  FOR  THE  TWO  BROTHERS  SLAIN  BY 
EACH    OTHERS    HAND. 

Now  do  our  eyes  behold 

The  tidings  which  were  told  : 
Twin  fallen  kings,  twin  perished  hopes  to  mourn, 

The  slayer,  the  slain. 
The  entangled  doom  forlorn 

And  ruinous  end  of  twain. 
Say,  is  not  sorrow,  is  not  sorrow's  sum 


170  ^SCHYLUS. 

On  home  and  hearthstone  come  ? 
Oh,  waft  with  sighs  the  sail  from  shore, 
Oil,  smite  the  bosom,  cadencing  the  oar 
That  rows  beyond  the  rueful  stream  for  aye 
To  the  far  strand, 
The  ship  of  souls,  the  dark, 
The  unreturning  bark 
Whereon  light  never  falls  nor  foot  of  Day, 
Even  to  the  bourne  of  all,  to  the  unbeholden  land. 

A.  E.  Housman. 


PROMETHEUS,   1-435. 

PROMETHEUS  BOUND  TO  THE  ROCK. 

Strength  and  Force  appear  with  Hephceatus  drag- 
ging in  Prometheus.  They  chain  him  to  the 
Crag.  Then  the  Sea  Nymphs  come  to  listen  to 
Ms  Story. 

STEEKGTH. 

We  reach  the  utmost  limit  of  the  earth, 
The  Scythian  track,  the  desert  without  man. 
And  now,  Hephaestus,  thou  must  needs  fulfill 
The  mandate  of  our  father,  and  with  links 
Indissoluble  of  adamantine  chains. 
Fasten  against  this  beetling  precipice 
This  gviilty  god  !     Because  he  filched  away 
Thine  own  bright  flower,  the  glory  of  plastic  fire, 
And  gifted  mortals  with  it,  —  such  a  sin 
It  doth  behove  he  expiate  to  the  gods, 
Learning  to  accept  the  empery  of  Zeus, 
And  leave  off  his  old  trick  of  loving  man. 


PROMETHEUS.  171 

HEPaESTDS. 

0  Strength  and  Force,  for  you  our  Zeus's  will 
Presents  a  deed  for  doing.     No  more  !  —  but  I, 

1  lack  your  daring,  up  this  storm-rent  chasm 
To  fix  with  violent  hands  a  kindred  god, 
Howbeit  necessity  compels  me  so 

That  I  must  dare  it,  —  and  our  Zeus  commands 
"With  a  most  inevitable  word.     Ho  thou  ! 
High-thoughted  son  of  Themis  who  is  sage, 
Thee  loath,  I  loath  must  rivet  fast  in  chains 
Against  this  rocky  height  unclomb  by  man. 
Where  never  human  voice  nor  face  shall  find 
Out   thee   who   lov'st   them !  —  and   thy    beauty's 

flower, 
Scorched  in  the  sun's  clear  heat,  shall  fade  away. 
Night  shall  come  up  with  garniture  of  stars 
To  comfort  thee  with  shadow,  and  the  sim 
Disperse  with  retricked  beams  the  morning  frosts ; 
And  through  all  changes,  sense  of  present  woe 
Shall  vex  thee  sore,  because  with  none  of  them 
There  comes  a  hand  to  free.     Such  fruit  is  plucked 
From  love  of  man  !   for  in  that  thou,  a  god, 
Didst  brave  the  wrath  of  gods  and  give  away 
Undue  respect  for  mortals  ;  for  that  crime 
Thou  art  adjudged  to  guard  this  joyless  rock. 
Erect,  unslumbering,  bending  not  the  knee, 
And  many  a  cry  and  unavailing  moan 
To  utter  on  the  air !     For  Zeus  is  stern, 
And  new-made  kings  are  cruel. 


172  ^SCEYLUS. 

PROMETHEUS  {aloYie). 

0  holy  ^ther,  and  swift-wingfed  Winds, 
And  River-wells,  and  laughter  innumerous 
Of  yon  Sea-waves  !     Earth,  mother  of  us  all, 
And  all-viewing  cyclic  Sun,  I  cry  on  you  !  — 
Behold  me,  a  god,  what  I  endure  from  gods ! 

Behold  with  throe  on  throe. 
How,  wasted  hy  this  woe, 

1  wrestle  down  the  myriad  years  of  time  ! 

Behold,  how  fast  around  me, 
The  new  King  of  the  happy  ones  sublime 
Has  flung  the   chain  he  forged,  has  shamed  and 

bound  me  ! 
Woe,  woe,  to-day's  woe  and  the  coming  morrow's, 
I  cover  with  one  groan  !     And  where  is  found  me 

A  limit  to  these  sorrows  ? 
And  yet  what  word  do  I  say  ?     I  have  foreknown 
Clearly  all  things  that  should  be  —  nothing  done 
Comes  sudden  to  my  soul  —  and  I  must  bear 
What  is  ordained  with  patience,  being  aware 
Necessity  doth  front  the  universe 
With  an  invincible  gesture.     Yet  this  curse, 
Which  strikes  me  now,  I  find  it  hard  to  brave 
In  silence  or  in  speech.     Because  I  gave 
Honor  to  mortals,  I  have  yoked  my  soul 
To  this  compelling  fate  !      Because*  I  stole 
The  secret  fount  of  fire,  whose  bubbles  went 
Over  the  ferrule's  brim,  and  manward  sent 
Art's  mighty  means  and  perfect  rudiment. 
That  sin  I  expiate  in  this  agony  ; 
Hung  here  in  fetters,  'neath  the  blanching  sky  ! 

[The  Sea  Nymphs  draw  near. 


PROMETHEUS.  173 

Ah,  ah  me  !  what  a  sound  ! 
What  a  fragrance  sweeps  up  from  a  pinion  unseen 
Of  a  god  or  a  mortal,  or  nature  between. 
Sweeping  uj)  to  this  rock  where  the  earth  has  her 

bound, 
To  have  sight  of  my  pangs,  or  some  guerdon  obtain. 
Lo  !  a  god  in  the  anguish,  a  god  in  the  chain  ! 

The  god  Zeus  hateth  sore, 

And  his  gods  hate  again, 
As  many  as  tread  on  his  glorified  floor. 
Because  I  loved  mortals,  too  much  evermore  ! 
Alas  me !  what  a  murmur  and  motion  I  hear, 

As  of  birds  flying  near  ! 

And  the  air  undersings 

The  light  stroke  of  their  wings  — 
And  all  life  that  approaches  I  wait  for  in  fear. 

CHOKUS   OF   SEA   NYMPHS. 

Fear  nothing  !   our  troop 

Floats  lovingly  up 

With  a  quick-oaring  stroke 

Of  winofs  steered  to  the  rock  ; 
Having  softened  the  soul  of  our  father  below ! 
For   the   gales  of    swift-bearing   have   sent  me   a 

sound. 
And  the  clank  of  the  iron,  the  malleted  blow. 

Smote  down  the  profound 

Of  my  caverns  of  old. 
And  struck  the  red  light  in  a  blush  from  my  brow, 
Till  I  sprang  up  unsandaled,  in  haste  to  behold, 
And  rushed  forth  on  my  chariot  of  wings   mani- 
fold. 


174  ^SCHYLUS. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Alas  me  !    Alas  me  !  * 

Ye  o£fsi)ring  of  Tethys  who  bore  at  her  breast 
Many  children  ;  and  eke  of  Oceanus,  —  he 
Coiling  still  around  earth  with  perpetual  unrest ; 

Behold  me  and  see 

How  transfixed  with  the  fang 

Of  a  fetter  I  hang 
On  the  high  jutting  rocks  of  this  fissure,  and  keep 
An  uncoveted  watch  o'er  the  world  and  the  deep. 

CHORUS. 

I  behold  thee,  Prometheus  —  yet  now,  yet  now, 
A  terrible  cloud  whose  rain  is  tears 
Sweeps  over  mine  eyes  that  witness  how 

Thy  body  apjiears 
Hung  awaste  on  the  rocks  by  infrangible  chains ! 
For  new  is  the  hand,  new  the  rudder  that  steers 
The  ship  of  Olympus  through  surge  and  wind  — 
And  of  old  things  passed,  no  track  is  behind. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Under  earth,  under  Hades, 

Where  the  home  of  the  shade  is, 
All  into  the  deep,  deep  Tartarus, 

I  would  he  had  hurled  me  adown  ! 
I  would  he  had  plunged  me,  fastened  thus 
In  the  knotted  chain  with  the  savage  clang. 
All  into  the  dark,  where  there  should  be  none, 
Neither  god  nor  another,  to  laugh  and  see  ! 
But  now  the  wnds  sing  through  and  shake 
The  hurtling  chains  wherein  I  hang  — 


PROMETHEUS.  175 

And  I.  in  my  naked  sorrows,  make 
Much  mirth  for  my  enemy. 


Universal  Sympathy  with  Prometheus. 

CHORUS. 

I  moan  thy  fate,  I  moan  for  thee, 

Prometheus  !  From  my  eyes  too  tender, 
Drop  after  drop  incessantly, 

The  tears  of  my  heart's  pity  render 
My  cheeks  wet  from  their  fountains  free  — 
Because  that  Zeus,  the  stern  and  cold, 

Whose  law  is  taken  from  his  breast, 

Uplifts  his  sceptre  manifest 
Over  the  gods  of  old. 

All  the  land  is  moaning 
With  a  murmured  plaint  to-day  ! 

All  the  mortal  nations, 

Having  habitations 

In  the  holy  Asia, 

Are  a  dirge  intoning 
For  thine  honor  and  thy  brothers', 
Once  majestic  beyond  others 

In  the  old  belief  — 
Now  are  groaning  in  the  groaning 

Of  thy  deep-voiced  grief. 

Mourn  the  maids  inhabitant 

Of  the  Colchian  land, 
Who  with  white,  calm  bosoms,  stand 

In  the  battle's  roar  ! 


176  JESCHYLUS. 

Mourn  the  Scythian  tribes  that  haunt 
The  verge  of  earth,  Mceotis'  shore. 

Yea !   Arabia's  battle  crown, 
And  dwellers  in  the  beetling  town 

Mount  Caucasus  sublimely  nears  — 
An  iron  squadron,  thundering  down 

With  the  sharp-prowed  spears. 

But  one  other  before,  have  I  seen  to  remain, 

By  invincible  pain 
Bound     and    vanquished  —  one    Titan  !  —  't  was 

Atlas,  who  bears, 
In  a  curse  from  the  gods,  by  that  strength  of  his  own 

Which  he  evermore  wears, 
The  weight  of  the  heaven  on  his  sI'LOulder  alone, 

While  he  sighs  up  the  stars  ! 
And  the  tides  of  the  ocean  wail  bursting  their  bars  — 

Murmurs  still  the  profound  — 

And  black  Hades  roars  up  through  the  chasm  of 

the  ground 

And  the  fountains  of  pure-running  rivers  moan  low 

In  a  pathos  of  woe. 

Mrs.  Srowning. 


PROMETHEUS,  436-506. 
BENEFITS  CONFERRED  ON  MAN  BY  PROMETHEUS. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Beseech  you,  think  not  I  am  silent  thus 
Through  pride  or  scorn  !     I  only  gnaw  my  heart 
With  meditation,  seeing  myself  so  wronged, 


PROMETHEUS.  177 

For  see  —  their  honors  to  these  new-made  gods. 

What  other  gave  but  I  —  and  dealt  them  out 

With  distribution  ?    Ay  —  but  here  I  am  dumb  ; 

For  here  I  should  repeat  your  knowledge  to  you, 

If  I  spake  aught.     List  rather  to  the  deeds 

I  did  for  mortals,  —  how,  being  fools  before, 

I  made  them  wise  and  true  in  aim  of  soul. 

And  let  me  tell  you  —  not  as  taunting  men, 

But  teaching  you  the  intention  of  my  gifts  ; 

How,  first  beholding,  they  beheld  in  vain, 

And  hearmg,  heard  not,  but  like  shapes  in  dreams 

Mixed  all  things  wildly  down  the  tedious  time, 

Nor  knew  to  build  a  house  against  the  sun 

With  wicketed  sides,  nor  any  woodcraft  knew. 

But  lived  like  silly  ants,  beneath  the  ground 

In  hollow  caves  unsunned.     There  came  to  them 

No  steadfast  sign  of  winter,  nor  of  spring 

Flower-perfumed,  nor  of  summer  full  of  fruit, 

But  blindly  and  lawlessly  they  did  all  things. 

Until  I  taught  them  how  the  stars  do  rise 

And  set  in  mystery  ;  and  devised  for  them 

Number,  the  inducer  of  philosophies, 

The  synthesis  of  Letters,  and,  beside. 

The  artificer  of  all  things.  Memory, 

That  sweet  Muse-motlier.     I  was  first  to  yoke 

The  servile  beasts  in  couples,  carrying 

An  heii'dom  of  men's  burdens  on  their  backs  ! 

I  joined  to  chariots,  steeds,  that  love  the  bit 

They  champ  at  —  the  chief  pomp  of  golden  ease  ! 

And  none  l)ut  I  originated  ships, 

The  seaman's  chariots,  wandering  on  the  brine 

With  linen  wings  !      And  I  —  oh,  miserable  ! 

Who  did  devise  for  mortals  all  these  arts. 


178  ^SCBYLUS. 

Have  no  device  left  now  to  save  myself 
From  the  woe  I  suffer. 

CHORUS. 

Most  unseemly  woe 
Thou  sufferest  and  dost  stagger  from  the  sense, 
Bewildered  !     Like  a  bad  leech  falling  sick 
Thou  ait  faint  at  soul,  and  canst  not  find  the  drugs 
Requii'ed  to  save  thyself. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Hearken  the  rest, 
And  marvel  further  —  what  more  arts  and  means 
I  did  invent,  —  this,  greatest !  if  a  man 
Fell  sick,  there  was  no  cure,  nor  esculent 
Nor  chrism  nor  liquid,  but  for  lack  of  drugs 
Men  pined  and  wasted,  till  I  showed  them  all 
Those  mixtures  of  emollient  remedies 
Whereby  they  might  be  rescued  from  disease. 
I  fixed  the  various  rules  of  mantic  art, 
Discerned  the  vision  from  the  common  dream, 
Instructed  them  in  vocal  auguries 
Hai'd  to  interpret,  and  defined  as  plain 
The  wayside  omens,  flights  of  crook-clawed  birds, 
Showed  which  are  by  their  nature  fortunate, 
And  which  not  so,  and  what  the  food  of  each. 
And  what  the  hates,  affections,  social  needs, 
Of  all  to  one  another,  —  taught  what  sign 
Of  viscei'al  lightness,  colored  to  a  shade. 
May  charm  the  genial  gods,  and  what  fair  spots 
Commend  the  lung  and  liver.     Burning  so 
The  limbs  encased  in  fat,  and  the  long  chine, 
I  led  my  mortals  on  to  an  art  abstruse, 


PROMETHEUS.  179 

And  cleared  their  eyes  to  the  image  in  the  fire, 
Erst  filmed  in  dark.     Enough  said  now  of  this. 
For  the  other  helps  of  man  hid  undergromid, 
The  iron  and  the  brass,  silver  and  gold, 
Can  any  dare  affirm  he  found  them  out 
Before  me  ?    None,  I  know  !    Unless  he  choose 
To  lie  in  his  vaunt.     In  one  word  learn  the  whole  ; 
That  all  arts  come  to  mortals  from  Prometheus. 

Mrs.  Browning. 

PROMETHEUS,  887-906. 

THE  CHORUS  MORALIZES  UPON  THE  FATE 
OF  10. 

STROPHE. 

Oh,  wise  was  he,  oh,  wise  was  he, 
Who  first  within  his  spirit  knew 
And  with  his  tongue  declared  it  true. 
That  love  comes  best  that  comes  unto 

The  equal  of  degree  ! 
And  that  the  poor  and  that  the  low 
Should  seek  no  love  from  those  above 
Whose  souls  are  fluttered  with  the  flow 
Of  airs  about  their  golden  height, 
Or  proud  because  they  see  arow 
Ancestral  crowns  of  light ! 

•  ANTISTROPHE. 

Oh,  never,  never,  may  ye.  Fates, 
Behold  me  with  your  awful  eyes 

Lift  mine  too  fondly  uj)  the  skies 

Where  Zeus  upon  the  j)urplo  waits !  — 

Nor  let  me  step  too  near  —  too  near  — 

To  any  suitor,  bright  from  heaven  ! 


180  ^SCIIYLUS. 

Because  I  see  —  because  I  fear 

This  loveless  maiden  ^  vexed  and  laden 

.By  this  fell  curse  of  Here,  driven 
On  wanderings  dread  and  drear  ! 

EPODE. 

Nay,  grant  an  equal  troth  instead 

Of  nuptial  love  to  bind  me  by ! 
It  will  not  hurt  —  I  shall  not  dread 

To  meet  it  in  rejjly. 
But  let  not  love  from  those  above 

Revert  and  fix  me,  as  I  said, 
With  that  inevitable  Eye  ! 

I  have  no  sword  to  fight  that  fight  — 
I  have  no  strength  to  tread  that  path  — 

I  know  not  if  my  nature  hath 
The  power  to  bear  —  I  cannot  see 

Whither,  from  Zeus's  infinite, 
I  have  the  power  to  flee. 

Mrs.  Browning. 

PROMETHEUS,  108O-1093. 

PROMETHEUS  AMID  HUERICANE  AND    EARTH- 
QUAKE UTTERS   HIS   LAST  WORDS. 

Earth  is  rocking  in  space  ! 
And  the  thunders  crash  up  with  a  roar  upon  roar, 
And  the  eddying  lightnings  flash  fire  in  my  face. 
And  the  whirlwinds  are  whirling    the  dust  round 
and  round,  — 
And  the  blasts  of  the  winds  universal  leap  free 

To,  who  has  been  telling  to  Prometheus  the  story  of  her 
misfortunes. 


THE  PERSIANS.  181 

And  blow  each  ujion  each,  witli  a  passion  of  sound, 
And  aether  goes  mingling  in  storm  with  the  sea ! 
Such  a  curse  on  my  head,  in  a  manifest  dread,  - 
From   the  hand  of  your  Zeus  has  been  hurtled 
along  ! 
O  my  mother's  fair  glory  !   0  ^ther,  enrlnging 
AU  eyes  with  the  sweet  common  light  of  thy  bringing, 
Dost  see  how  I  suffer  this  wrong  ? 

Mrs.  Browning. 

THE   PERSIANS,  384-432. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  SALAMLS. 

The  night  was  passing,  and  the  Grecian  host 
By  no  means  sought  to  issue  forth  unseen. 
But  when  indeed  the  day  with  her  white  steeds 
Held  all  the  earth,  resjjlendent  to  behold, 
First  from  the  Greeks  the  loud-resounding  din 
Of  song  triumphant  came ;  and  shrill  at  once 
Echo  responded  from  the  island  rock. 
Then  upon  all  barbarians  terror  fell, 
Thus  disappointed  ;   for  not  as  for  flight 
The  Hellenes  sang  the  holy  paean  then. 
But  setting  forth  to  battle  valiantly. 
The  bugle  witli  its  note  inflamed  them  all ; 
And  straightway  with  tlie  dip  of  plashing  oars 
They  smote  the  deep  sea  water  at  command, 
And  quickly  all  were  plainly  to  be  seen. 
Their  right  wing  first  in  orderly  array 
Led  on,  and  second  all  the  armament 
Followed    them  forth ;    and  meanwhile    there  was 

heard 
A  mighty  shout : 


182  JESCHYLUS. 

"  Come,  O  ye  sons  of  Greeks, 
Make  free  your  country,  make  your  children  free, 
Your  wives,  and  fanes  of  your  ancestral  gods, 
And  your  sires'  tombs  !    For  all  we  now  contend  !  " 

And  from  our  side  the  rush  of  Persian  speech 
Replied.     No  longer  might  the  crisis  wait. 
At  once  ship  smote  on  ship  with  brazen  beak  ; 
A  vessel  of  the  Greeks  began  the  attack, 
Crushing  the  stem  of  a  Phoenician  ship. 
Each  on  a  different  vessel  turned  his  prow. 
At  first  the  current  of  the  Persian  host 
Withstood  ;  but  when  within  the  strait  the  throng 
Of  ships  was  gathered,  and  they  could  not  aid 
Each  other,  but  by  their  own  brazen  bows 
Were  struck,  they  shattered  all  our  naval  host. 
The  Grecian  vessels  not  unskillfully 
Were  smiting  round  about ;  the  hulls  of  ships 
Were  overset ;  the  sea  was  hid  from  sight, 
Covered  with  wreckage  and  the  death  of  men  ; 
The  reefs  and  headlands  were  with  corpses  filled, 
And  in  disordered  flight  each  ship  was  rowed, 
As  many  as  were  of  the  Persian  host. 
.But  they,  like  tunnies  or  some  shoal  of  fish, 
With  broken  oars  and  fragments  of  the  wrecks 
Struck  us  and  clove  us  ;  and  at  once  a  cry 
Of  lamentation  filled  the  briny  sea. 
Till  the  black  darkness'  eye  did  rescue  us. 

The  number  of  our  griefs,  not  though  ten  days 
I  talked  together,  could  I  fully  tell ; 
But  this  know  well,  that  never  in  one  day 
Perished  so  great  a  multitude  of  men. 

William  Cranston  Lawton. 


SOPHOCLES,  495-405  B.  c. 

CEDIPUS   THE   KING,   151-215. 

PRAYER    FOR    DELIVERANCE   FROM    THE 
PESTILENCE. 

CHOKUS. 

Lord  of  the  Pythian  treasure/ 
Wliat  meaneth  the  word  thou  hast  spoken  ? 
The  strange  and  wondrous  word, 
Which  Thebes  hath  heard, 
Oh  !  It  hath  shaken  our  hearts  to  a  faltering  measure  ! 

A  token,  O  Paian,  a  token  ! 

What  is  thy  boon  to  us  ? 

Shall  it  come  soon  to  us, 
Shall  it  be  long  e'er  the  circle  bend 

Full  round  to  the  fatal  end  ? 
Answer  us,  daughter  of  Hope, 
Voice  born  Immortal  of  golden  Hope ! 

First  therefore  thou  be  entreated, 
Divine  unapproachable  maiden,'^ 
And  Artemis  with  thee,  our  aid  to  be, 
In  the  mid  mart  of  our  city  majestical  seated, 
And  Phoebus  the  archer  death-laden  ! 

^  Apollo.  ^  Atliene. 


184  ^SOPHOCLES. 

By  your  affinity 
Helpfullest  trinity, 
Help  us.     And  as  in  the  time  gone  by 
Ye  have  bowed  to  our  plaintive  cry, 
Bowed  to  our  misery  sore  : 
So  come  to  us  now  as  ye  came  before. 
Ah  me  !  it  is  a  world,  a  world  of  woe. 
Plague  upon  the  height  and  plague  below  ! 
And  they  mow  us  with  murderous  glaive, 
And  never  a  shield  to  save  ! 
Never  a  fruit  of  the  earth  comes  to  the  birth, 
And  in  vain,  in  vain 
Is  the  cry  and  the  labor  of  mothers,  and  all  for  a 
fruitless  pain. 
Away,  away, 
Ghost  upon  ghost  they  are  wafted  away : 
One  with  another  they  die, 
Swifter  than  flame  do  they  fly 
From  life,  from  light,  from  day. 

Ah  me  !  it  is  a  world,  a  world  of  dead, 

Feverous  and  foul,  with  corpses  spread  : 

And  they  lie  as  they  lie,  unbefriended. 

Where  are  the  mothers,  and  where  are  the  wives  ? 

They  are  fled,  fled  for  their  lives, 

To  the  altars  to  pray,  '[ 

There  to  lie,  to  sigh,  ii 

And  to  pray,  and  to  pray  unattended,  I 

With  choir  and  cry  j 

Lamentation  and  litany  blended.  ! 

And  only,  O    Maiden,  by  thee   may  our    marred  ! 

estate  be  mended.  I 


OEDIPUS   THE  KING.  185 

The  fiend  of  plague,  whose  swordless  hand 
Burns  like  battle  through  the  land, 
With  wild  tempestuous  wailing  all  about  him,  — 
O  cross  his  track  and  turn  him  back 
O  meet  him,  thou,  and  rout  him  ! 
Let  him  sink  again 
Deep  in  the  deepest  main  ! 
Let  him  mingle  in  horrible  motion 

With  the  wildest  ocean  ! 
(For  stiU  what  'scapes  the  cruel  night, 
Cruel  day  destroys  it  quite.) 

But  oh  !  with  thunder-stroke 
Let  our  enemy  and  thine  be  broke,  — 
O  Zeus  !  — 
Father  !  —  let  him  know  thy  wrath,  thy  wrath  di- 
vine ! 

O  God  of  light,  from  lightsome  bow 
Cast  abroad  thy  fiery  snow, 
Like  morsels  cast  thine  arrowy,  fiery  snow  ! 
And  thou,  O  mountain  maiden  pure. 
His  sister,  stand  our  champion  sure, 

Stand  and  strow 
Arrows,  as  fire,  below ! 
Thou  too  —  thou  art  Theban  —  O  Bacchus, 
Thou  —  art  thou  not  Theban  ?  —  O  Bacchus, 
In  rosy  bloom,  elate  and  strong, 
Lead  thy  madding  train  along. 

Until  thy  fiery  chase 
Hunt  the  demon  from  the  place 

Afur,  afar  ! 
O  follow,  follow  liiui  far,  afar! 

A.  W.  VerralL 


186  SOPHOCLES. 


CEDIPUS  THE   KING,  863-910. 
THE  HOLINESS  OF  LAW. 

CHORUS. 

Mine  be  it,  mine  to  hold, 
With  destiny  to  aid,  the  stainless  sanctity 

In  words  and  actions  manifold. 
Whereof  the  laws  do  live  and  move  on  high. 

Set  in  eternal  spheres. 
Born  in  the  bright  expanse  of  upper  sky, 
Birth  of  the  high  God,  not  of  mortal  years, 

Nor  unto  dull  oblivion  a  prey : 
Strong,    ageless    deity  is    theirs,    and    waneth   not 
away. 

The  child  of  earthly  pride 
Is  tyranny,  when  once  man's  life  doth  teem 
With  wealth  too  great  to  jirofit  or  beseem. 

Up,  by  a  path  untried, 
Up  to  the  crowning  peak,  of  bliss 
She  climbs,  then  headlong  down  the  sheer  abyss 

Helpless  she  sinks  to  the  unfooted  void ! 
Yet  unto  God  I  pray  that  he  may  ne'er  annul 
Man's  strife  that  man's   estate  be  honored  to  the 

full. 
God  is   my  help ;    to   him   my   faith   clings  unde- 
stroyed. 

But  if  a  man,  in  deed  or  word, 

Walks  o'er-informed  with  pride  and  might, 


(EDIPUS   THE  KING.  187 

By  fear  of  justice  undeterred, 
Scorning  the  seats  of  deity, 
HI  doom,  to  that  man  drawing  nigh, 
His  ill-starred  arrogance  requite  ! 
Unless  toward  his  proper  gain 
With  uncorrupted  hand  he  strain. 
Unless  he  loathe  all  filthiness  — 
If  with  lewd  hands  he  touch  the   grace  of   holi- 
ness ! 
Henceforth,  if  such  things  be,  no  mortal  evermore 

Can  from  his  life  repel 
The  darts  of   heaven  and  boast  that  foiled   they 
feU: 
If  he  who  walks  such  ways 
Deserve  man's  honor  and  his  praise. 
Wherefore    with   holy  dance    should   I   the    Gods 
adore  ? 

Never  again  from  Delphi's  central  hearth, 
The  sacred  spot  inviolate  of  earth. 
Will  I  seek  Phoebus'  grace, 
Nor  unto  Abfe  nor  Olympia  go. 
Unless  these  presages  come  forth. 
Clear,  to  the  issue  joined,  for  all  to  see  and  show. 

But  unto  thee  we  pray, 
Zeus,  lord  and  king  !  if  so  men  call  on  thee  aright  — 
Deathless  thou  art,  eternal,  full  of  sway  — 
Let  not  transgi-ession  'scape  thy  sight  1 
Wrecks  of  a  bygone  day. 
The  ancient  oracles  of  Laius'  line 
Are  cast  contemned  away  ! 


188  SOPHOCLES. 

No  more  is  glorified  Apollo's  shrine  ; 
Death  falls  on  things  divine, 

E.  D.  A.  Morshead. 


CEDIPUS   THE   KING,   1458-1480. 
THE  BLIND  CEDIPUS  AND  HIS  CHILDREN. 

CEDIPUS. 

For  my  fate,  let  it  pass  !     My  children,  Creon  ! 

My  sons  —  nay,  they  the  bitter  wants  of  life 

May   master  ;    they    are   men  !      My   girls  —  my 

darlings  — 
Why,  never  sat  I  at  my  household  board 
Without  their  blessed  looks  ;  our  very  bread 
We  brake  together ;  —  thou  'It  be  kind  to  them 
For  my  sake,  Creon  —  and,  (0  latest  prayer  !) 
Let  me   but   touch  them  —  feel   them  vrith   these 

hands, 
And  pour  such  sorrows  as  may  speak  farewell 
O'er  ills  that  must  be  theirs  !      By  thy  pure  line  — 
For  thine  is   pure  —  do   this,  sweet  prince.     Me- 

thinks 
I   should  not  miss  these   eyes,  could  I  but  touch 

them. 
What  shall  I  say  to  move  thee  ? 

Sobs  !  —  And  do  I, 
Oh,  do  I  hear  my  sweet  ones  ?     Hast  thou  sent, 
In  mercy  sent,  my  children  to  my  arms  ? 
Speak  —  speak  —  I  do  not  dream  ! 


(ED IP  us   THE  KING.  189 

CKEON. 

They  are  thy  children. 
I  would  not  shut  thee  from  the  dear  delight 
In  the  old  time  they  gave  thee. 

CEDIPUS. 

Blessing  on  thee ! 
For  this  one  mercy  mayst  thou  find  above 
A  kinder  God  than  I  have.     Ye  —  where  are  ye  ? 
My  children,  come  !  nearer  and  nearer  yet. 

E.  Bulwer-Lytton. 

CEDIPUS    THE   KING,   1524-1530. 

CHORUS  MORALIZES  ON  THE  FATE. OF  CEDIPUS. 

Dwellers  in  our  native  Tliebe,  fix  on  CEdipus  your 

eyes. 
Who  resolved  the  dark  enigma,  noblest  champion 

and  most  wise. 
Glorious,  like   a   sun   he   mounted,  envied  of   the 

popular  throng ; 
Now  he  sinks  in  seas  of  anguish,  plunged  the  lash- 
ing waves  among. 
Therefore,  with  the  old-world  sages,  waiting  for  the 

final  day, 
I  will   call   no  mortal  happy,   while  he  holds  his 

house  of  clay, 
Till  without  one  pang  of  sorrow,  all  his  hours  have 

passed  away. 

Lewis  Camjjbell. 


190  SOPHOCLES. 

CEDIPUS  AT  COLONUS,  1-116. 

THE  ARRIVAL  AT   THE  SACRED   GROVE. 

The  blind,  outcast  King,  (Edipus,  led  by  Atitigone, 
is  seen  approaching  Colonus,  a  Suburb  of  Alli- 
ens, where  He  has  been  told  by  the  Oracle  that 
his  Life  should  find  its  End. 

CEDIPUS. 

Child  of  a  blind  old  man,  Antigone, 

To  what  place  have  we  come,  whose  city  this  ? 

Who  will  receive  the  wanderer  QEdijDus 

But  for  to-day  and  with  the  scantiest  gifts  ? 

Little  I  ask,  yet  even  less  receive, 

And  find  that  little  still  sufficing  me. 

For  suffering  and  Time,  my  long  companion, 

And  my  own  noble  soul  teach  me  content. 

But,  child,  see'st  anywhere  a  resting  place. 

Or  in  the  trodden  way  or  sacred  groves  ? 

There  lead  and  seat  me  down  that  we  may  ask 

Where  now  we  are.     Being  strangers,  we  must  learn 

From  citizens,  and  what  we  hear  perform. 

ANTIGONE. 

My  father,  woe-worn  Q^idipus,  I  see 
A  city  crowned  with  towers  not  far  away  ; 
But  this  place  sure  is  holy  —  all  in  bloom 
With  laurel,  olive,  vine  —  while  nightingales 
On  crowding  wing  sing  sweet  within  the  groves. 
Here  bend  thy  limbs  to  this  unpolished  stone  ; 
For  thou  hast  journeyed  far  for  an  old  man. 


(EDIPUS  AT  COLONUS.  191 

(EDIPUS. 

Well,  seat  me  down  and  watch  the  blind  man  here. 

aktigon:e. 
Long  lapse  of  time  hath  taught  this  work  to  me. 

(EDIPUS. 

Canst  thou  tell  now  the  place  that  we  have  reached  ? 

ANTIGONE. 

Athens  I  recognize,  but  this  place  not. 

CEDIPUS. 

Why,  every  wayfarer  hath  told  us  that. 

ANTIGONE. 

Well,  shall  I  go  and  learn  what  place  it  is  ? 

tEDIPUS. 

Yes,  child,  at  least  if  't  is  inhabited. 

ANTIGONE. 

But  't  is  inhabited.     I  need  not  go, 

I  think,  for  now  I  see  this  stranger  near. 

CEDIPUS. 

Is  he  advancing  here  in  haste  to  us  ? 

ANTIGONE. 

He  's  close  at  hand.     Whate'er  thou  Iiast  to  say 
'T  is  now  the  time  ;  speak,  since  the  man  is  here. 

\_Enter  an  Athenian. 


192  SOPHOCLES. 

CEDIPUS. 

Stranger,  since  now  I  learn  from  this  girl  here, 
Whose  eyes  must  serve  me  as  they  serve  herself, 
That  thou  art  timely  come  to  clear  our  doubt  — 

ATHENIAN. 

Before  thou  say'st  more  from  this  spot  withdraw ; 
The  place  whereon  thou  stand'st  is  holy  ground. 

CEDIPDS. 

What  is  this  place,  —  to  what  god  consecrate  ? 

ATHENIAN. 

Untrodden,  uninhabited.     For  here 

The  daughters  dread  of  Earth  and  Darkness  dwell. 

CEDIPUS. 

Whose  the  dread  name  to  call  on  in  my  prayer  ? 

ATHENIAN. 

The  all-seeing  Eumenides  the  people  here 

Do  call  them.     Elsewhere  other  names  they  have. 

CEDIPUS. 

0  that  they  might  receive  me,  suppliant,  now, 
That  I  no  more  go  forth  from  this  their  seat. 

ATHENIAN. 

What  say'st  thou  ? 

CEDIPUS. 

'T  is  the  watchword  of  my  fate. 


(EDIPUS  AT  COLONUS.  193 

ATHENIAN. 

Well,  I  lack  courage  too  to  send  thee  forth 
Till  I  inform  the  city  what  I  do. 

CEDIPUS. 

Now  stranger,  by  the  gods  do  not  disdain 
To  answer  me,  poor  wanderer,  what  I  ask. 

ATHENIAN. 

Speali,  and  thou  shalt  not  meet  disdain  from  me. 

CEDIP0S. 

Well,  what  the  place  to  which  we  now  have  come  ? 

ATHENIAN. 

All  that  I  knoAv  myself  thou  now  shalt  hear. 

This  place  is  holy,  all.     Poseidon  here 

Revered  doth  reign.     Here,  too,  who   brought  us 

fire. 
Titan  Prometheus,  and  the  place  thou  tread'st 
Is  called  the  land's  brass-paven  threshold,  defense 
Of  Athens.     But  the  neighboring  fields 
The  knight  Colonus  claim  for  patron  kind, 
And  bear  his  name  —  the  equal  right  of  all. 
Such  is  the  story,  stranger,  —  no  mere  words.  — 
But  we  with  presence  of  the  gods  are  blest. 

CEDIPUS. 

Why,  are  there  dwellers  in  these  regions  here  ? 

ATHENIAN. 

Most  sure,  and  from  this  god  receive  their  name. 


194  SOPHOCLES. 

CEDIPUS. 

Is  one  then  ruler,  or  do  the  people  sway  ? 

ATHENIAN. 

The  king  in  yonder  city  bears  the  rule. 

CEDIPUS. 

And  who  is  he  that  rules  in  word  and  deed  ? 

ATHENIAN. 

Theseus  his  name,  the  son  of  ^geus  born. 

CEDIPUS. 

And  could  some  one  to  him  our  message  bear  ? 

ATHENIAN. 

To  say  aught  to  him  or  to  bring  him  here  ? 

CEDIPUS. 

That,  helping  little,  he  may  win  great  gain. 

ATHENTAN. 

What  gain  from  one  whose  eyes  no  longer  see  ? 

CEDIPUS. 

The  words  we  speak  shall  have  the  gift  of  sight. 

ATHENIAN. 

Know'st  thou,  0  stranger,  how  thou  shalt  not  fail 
Thou  noble-seeming  one,  despite  thy  woe  ?  — 
Bide  here,  where  thou  art  now,  the  while  I  go 
And  to  our  people  —  not  the  city  folk  — 


CEDIPUS  AT  COLONUS.  195 

Report  all  this  ;  for  they  shall  judge  for  thee 
Whether  thou  mayst  remain  or  hence  depart. 

[Athenian  goes, 

CEDIPUS. 

Daughter,  is  now  the  stranger  gone  from  hence  ? 

ANTIGONE. 

He  's  gone,  dear  father,  so  that  all  in  peace 
Thou  now  mayst  speak,  since  I  alone  am  here. 

CEDIPUS. 

Revered  powers,  of  aspect  dread,  since  now 
To  your  seats  in  this  land  I  first  have  bent 
My  steps,  be  not  ungracious  to  me  here  — 
Nor  yet  to  Phoebus,  who  all  my  ills  foretold  ; 
But  told  me  I  should  meet,  in  lapse  of  time. 
This  respite  when  to  a  land  I  came,  my  goal, 
"Where  I  should  find  the  seat  of  gods  revered 
And  greeting  kind  —  here,  too,  my  woe-worn  life 
Should  turn  its  course  and  my  sojourn  be  fraught 
With  gain  to  those  who  welcomed  me,  but  those 
Who  drove  me  forth  should  aye  accursed  be. 
Signs,  too,  of  this  he  promised  me  should  come  — • 
Earthquake,  or  thunder  peal,  or  lightning  flash 
From  Zeus.     So  now  I  know  it  needs  must  be 
That  omen  true  from  you  hath  led  me  on, 
Through  all  my  journey,  to  this  grove  of  yours. 
Else  on  my  way  I  never  should  have  come 
To  you  —  I,  fasting,  you  the  foes  of  wine  — 
Nor  sat  me  down  upon  this  hallowed  seat 
Unhewn.     But  grant  to  me,  ye  goddesses,  — 
All  with  Apollo's  oracle  in  accord,  — 
End  and  accomplishment  of  this  my  life  ; 


196  SOPHOCLES. 

Unless  to  you  I  all  unworthy  seem, 

I,  ever  slave  to  mortals'  utmost  woe. 

Come  then,  sweet  daughters  of  primeval  Dark ; 

Come,  0  thou  Athens,  from  great  Pallas  called. 

Fairest  of  cities  all.     To  CEdipus  — 

His  wretched  semblance  rather  —  pity  show ; 

For  this  is  not  that  frame  of  other  days. 

ANTIGONE. 

Be  silent  now,  for  venerable  men 
Approach  to  ask  why  thou  art  sitting  here. 

CEDIPUS. 

I  will  keep  silent.     But  now  lead  me  forth 
From  out  the  road  and  hide  me  in  the  grove. 
Until  I  learn  their  word.     For  knowledge  shows 
Us  how  to  do  with  caution  what  we  do. 

Appleton„ 

CEDIPUS  AT  COLONUS,  668-719. 
PRAISE   OF   COLONUS. 

CHORUS. 

Stranger,  thou  art  standing  now 
On  Colonus'  sparry  brow  ; 
All  the  haunts  of  Attic  ground, 
Where  the  matchless  coursers  bound, 
Boast  not,  through  their  realms  of  bliss, 
Other  spot  as  fair  as  this. 
Frequent  down  this  greenwood  dale, 
Mourns  the  warbling  nightingale. 
Nestling  'mid  the  thickest  screen 
Of  the  ivy's  darksome  green ; 
Or  where,  each  empurpled  shoot 


(ED  IP  us  AT  COLON  US.  197 

Drooping  with  its  myriad  fruit, 
Curled  in  many  a  mazy  twine, 
Blooms  the  never-trodden  vine, 
By  the  god's  protecting  power 
Safe  from  sun  and  storm  and  shower. 
Bacchus  here,  the  summer  long, 
Revels  with  the  goddess  throng. 
Nymphs  who  erst,  on  Nyssa's  wild, 
Reai-ed  to  man  the  rosy  cliUd. 

Here  Narcissus,  day  by  day. 
Buds,  in  clustering  beauty  gay, 

Sipping  aye,  at  morn  and  even, 
All  the  nectar  dews  of  heaven, 

Wont  amid  your  locks  to  shine, 

Ceres  fair,  and  Proserpine. 

Here  the  golden  Crocus  gleams. 

Murmur  here  unfailing  streams, 

Sleep  the  bubbling  fountains  never, 

Feeding  pure  Cephisus  river, 

Wliose  prolific  waters  daily 

Bid  the  pastures  blossom  gayly. 

With  the  showers  of  spring-tide  blending, 

On  the  lap  of  earth  descending. 

Here  the  Nine,  to  notes  of  pleasure. 

Love  to  tread  their  choral  measure, 

Venus,  o'er  those  flowerets  gliding. 

Oft  her  rein  of  gold  is  guiding. 
Now  a  brighter  boast  than  all 

Shall  my  grateful  song  recall ; 

Yon  proud  shrub,  that  will  not  smile, 

Pelops,  on  thy  Doric  isle. 

Nor  on  Asiatic  soil, 

But  unsown,  unsought  by  toil, 


198  SOPHOCLES. 

Self-engendered,  year  by  year, 
Springs  to  life  a  native  here. 
Tree  the  trembling  foeman  shuns, 
Garland  for  Athena's  sons. 
May  the  olive  long  be  ours, 
None  may  break  its  sacred  bowers. 
None  its  boughs  of  silvery  gray 
Young  or  old  may  bear  avray  : 
Morian  Jove,  with  look  of  love. 
Ever  guards  it  from  above, 
Blue-eyed  Pallas  watch  unsleeping 
O'er  her  favorite  tree  is  keeping. 
Swell  the  song  of  praise  again  ; 
Other  boons  demand  my  strain, 
Other  blessings  we  inherit, 
Granted  by  the  mighty  Spirit ; 
On  the  sea  and  on  the  shore, 
Ours  the  bridle  and  the  oar. 
Son  of  Saturn  old  !   whose  sway 
Stormy  winds  and  waves  obey, 
Thine  be  honor's  well-earned  meed, 
Tamer  of  the  champing  steed  : 
First  he  wore  on  Attic  jjlain 
Bit  of  steel  and  curbing  rein. 
Oft  too  o'er  the  waters  blue, 
Athens,  strain  thy  laboring  crew  ; 
Practiced  hands  the  bark  are  plying. 
Oars  are  bending,  spray  is  flying. 
Sunny  waves  beneath  them  glancing, 
Sportive  Nereids  round  them  dancing, 
With  their  hundred  feet  in  motion, 
Twinkhng  'mid  the  foam  of  ocean. 

Anstice. 


(EDIPUS  AT  COLONUS.  199 


CEDIPUS  AT  COLONUS,  1211-1248. 
LONG  LIFE  NOT  TO  BE  DESIRED. 

CHORUS. 

Who,  loving  life,  hath  sought 

To  outrun  the  appointed  span, 
Shall  be  arraigned  before  my  thought 

For  an  infatuate  man. 
Since  the  added  years  entail 

Much  that  is  bitter  ;  —  joy 
Flies  out  of  ken,  desire  doth  fail, 

The  vrished-for  moments  cloy. 
But  when  the  troublous  life. 

Be  it  less  or  more,  is  past, 
With  power  to  end  the  strife 

Comes  rescuing  Death  at  last. 
Lo  !  the  dark  bridegroom  waits  !     No  festal  choir 
Shall  grace  his  destined  hour,  no  dance,  no  lyre  ! 

Far  best  were  ne'er  to  be  ; 

But,  once  he  hath  seen  the  day, 
Next  best  by  far  for  each  to  flee 

As  swiftly  as  each  may. 
Yonder  from  whence  he  came  ; 

For  let  but  Youth  be  there 
With  her  light  fooleries,  who  shall  name 

The  unnumbered  brood  of  Care  ? 
No  trial  spared,  no  fall  ! 

Feuds,  battles,  murders,  rage, 
Envy,  and  last  of  all, 

Despised,  dim,  friendless  age  ! 


200  SOPHOCLES. 

Ay,  there  all  evils,  crowded  in  one  room, 
Each  at  his  worst  of  ill,  augment  the  gloom. 

Such  lot  is  mine,  and  round  this  man  of  woe, 

As  some  gray  headland  of  a  northward  shore 
Bears  buffets  of  all  wintry  winds  that  blow. 
Fresh  storms  of  Fate  are  bursting  evermore 
In  thunderous  billows,  borne 
Some  from  the  waning  light, 
Some  through  mid-noon,  some  from  the  rising  morn, 
Some  from  the  stars  of  Night. 

Lewis  Campbell. 

ANTIGONE,   583-625. 
NO  RESPITE  FROM    DWINE  WRATH. 

CHORUS. 

High  is  their  happiness  whose  life  stands  clear 

From  touch  or  taste  of  ill. 
For  them  whose  roof-tree  rocks  beneath  the  wrath 
divine. 

No  respite  is  from  fear  ; 
But    curse    on    curse    comes    crowding;    on     them 

still  — 
Birth  after  birth,  their  generations  pine. 

As  when,  beneath  the  North  Wind's  stormy  scourge 
Of  bitter  blasts  that  blow  from  Thracian  land, 
Over  the  deep-sea  darkness  drives  the  surge. 
From  the  dim  gulf  it  stirs  the  dark  and  storm-vexed 
sand. 


ANTIGONE.  201 

And  wave-worn  headland  and  confronting  shore 

Reverberate  the  roar ; 
So  see  I  woe  on  woe,  ordained  of  old  — 
Woes  of  the  living  race,  on  woes  of  old  time  roUed, 
For  all  the  line  of  Labdaeus  ! 
No  generation's  blight 
Can  sate  the  curse  nor  give  back  light 
Where    some    dark    power    impends,    with     ruin 
fraught ! 
Awhile,  light  seemed  to  grow 
O'er  thy  last  root,  O  house  of  Q^^dipus  ! 
But  the  fell  sickle  of  the  gods  below  — 
Wild  words  and  frenzy  of  the  mind  distraught  — 
Hews  all  away  to  naught. 

Zeus  !  by  no  sin  of  man  the  overbold 

Is  thine  high  rule  controlled  : 
Not  minished  is  thy  strength  sublime 
By  sleep,  that  preys  on  all,  or  tireless  months  of 
time ! 
Ageless  in  power,  thy  living  royalty 
Dwells  in  Olympian  sheen,  in    gleaming    halls    of 
sky! 

This  law  of  days  long  past 
For  the  next  hour  and  for  all  time  stands  fast  — 
Who  gaineth  Miss  or.  wealth  too  great, 
For  him  lurks  evil  fate. 

Restless  beguiling  hope 
For  many  men  holds  gladness  in  its  scope, 
But  foils,  for  many,  all  they  craved  and  sought 
In  giddy  pride  of  thought ; 


202  SOPHOCLES. 

Man  knows  not  fate's  ai^proach,  but  onward  fares, 
Till  on  the  scorching  fire  his  foot  treads  unawares. 
Wisely  one  spake  this  immemorial  word  — 
The  man  whom  God  unto  ill  doom  doth  lead, 
Sees  and  is  blind,  deems  right  the  wrongful  deed: 
And  brief  his  date  is,  and  his  doom  assured. 

Morshead. 

ANTIGONE,  781-800. 
POWER  OF  LOVE. 

CHORUS. 

O  Love,  thou  art  victor  in  fight :  thou  mak'st  all 
things  afraid  ; 

Thou  couchest  thee  softly  at  night  on  the  cheeks 
of  a  maid  ; 

Thou  passest  the  bounds  of  the  sea,  and  the  folds  of 
the  fields  ; 

To  thee  the  immortal,  to  thee  the  ephemeral  yields  ; 

Thou  maddenest  them  that  possess  thee ;  thou 
turnest  astray 

The  souls  of  the  just,  to  oppress  them,  out  of  the 
way  ; 

Thou  hast  kindled  amongst  us  pride,  and  the  quar- 
rel of  kin ; 

Thou  art  lord,  by  the  eyes  of  a  bride,  and  the  love- 
light  therein ; 

Thou  sittest  assessor  with  Right ;  her  kingdom  is 
thine. 

Who  sports  with  invincible  might,  Aphrodita  divine. 

Sir  George  Young. 


ANTIGONE.  203 


ANTIGONE,  806-896. 

ANTIGONE  GOES  TO  HER  DEATH. 

Come,  fellow-citizens,  and  see 
The  desolate  Antigone, 
On  the  last  path  her  steps  shall  tread, 
Set  forth,  the  journey  of  the  dead  : 
Watching,  with  vainly-lingering  gaze, 
Her  last,  last  sun's  expiring  rays  ; 
Never  to  see  it,  never  more  ! 
For  down  to  Acheron's  dread  shore 
A  living  victim  am  I  led 
To  Hades'  universal  bed. 
To  my  dark  lot  no  bridal  joys 
Belong,  nor  e'er  the  jocund  noise 
Of  hymenean  chant  shall  sound  for  me  ; 
But  Death,  cold  Death  my  only  spouse  shall  be. 


Ah  me  !  and  am  I  laughed  to  scorn  ? 

Oh !  by  my  country's  gods  I  pray, 
Why  mock  ye  me,  not  yet  to  burial  borne, 

But  living  in  the  light  of  day  ? 

Thou  city,  hear  my  call ! 
And  ye  the  city's  wealthy  burghers  all ! 

Alas  I  sweet  Dii-ce's  fountain  stream, 
And  Thebes's  gi-ove,  where  the  bright    chariots 
gleam. 

Bear  witness  to  my  dreary  lot  — 


204  SOPHOCLES. 

How,  by  my  treacherous  friends  unwept,  forgot, 

I  go,  obedient  to  my  doom. 
To  the  dark  dungeon  of  this  new-heaped  tomb  ! 

0  miserable  me  ! 
Nor  with  the  living  nor  the  dead  to  be  ! 

But  in  lone  banishment  to  lie, 
Where  man  may  neither  live,  nor  yet  may  die. 

Unmourned,  unfriended,  and  unwed. 

My  dismal  journey  am  I  led  : 

No  more  may  I  behold  the  eye 

Of  that  great  holy  lamp  on  high  ; 

And  o'er  my  tearless  grave  shall  moan 

Of  all  my  reckless  friends  not  one. 
0  tomb  !  0  bridal  chamber  !    0  deep-delved 
And  strongly  guarded  mansion  !  I  descend 
To  meet  in  your  dread  chambers  all  my  kindred, 
Who  in  dark  multitudes  have  crowded  down 
Where  Proserpine  receives  the  dead.     But  I, 

The  last  —  and  oh,  how  few  more  miserable  ! 

Go  down,  or  ere  my  sands  of  life  are  run. 

Milman. 

AJAX,   596-645. 

LAMENT  FOR  THE  AFFLICTION    OF   AJAX.i 

CHORUS. 

Island  of  glory !  whom  the  glowing  eyes 
Of  all  the  wondering  world  immortalize. 
Thou,  Salamis,  art  planted  evermore, 
Happy  amidst  the  wandering  billows'  roar ; 
While  I  —  ah,  woe  the  while  !  —  this  weary  time. 
By  the  green  wold  where  flocks  from  Ida  stray, 
^  See  Note. 


AJAX.  205 

Lie  worn  with  countless  hours  of  wasted  prime. 
Hoping  —  ah,  cheerless  hope  !  —  to  win  my  way 
Where  Hades'  horrid  gloom  shall  hide  me  from 
the  day. 

Aias  is  with  me,  yea,  but  crouching  low, 
Where  Heaven-sent  madness  haunts  his  overthrow, 
Beyond  my  cure  or  tendance  :  woeful  plight ! 
Whom  thou,  erewhile,  to  head  the  impetuous  fight, 
Sent'st  forth,  thy  conquering  champion.     Now  he 

feeds 
His  spirit  on  lone  paths,  and  on  us  brings 
Deep  sorrow  ;  and  all  his  former  peerless  deeds 
Of  prowess  drop  like  unremembered  things 
From  Atreus'  loveless  brood,  this  caitiff  brace  of 

kiugs.^ 

Ah !  when  his  mother,  full  of  days  and  bowed 
With  hoary  eld,  shall  hear  his  ruined  mind, 
How  will  she  mourn  aloud  ! 
Not  like  the  warbler  of  the  dale, 
The  bird  of  piteous  wail,  ' 

]5ut  in  shrill  strains  far  borne  upon  the  wind, 
While  on  the  withered  breast  and  thin  white  hair 
Falls  the  resounding  blow,  the  rending  of  despair. 

Best  hid  in  death  were  he  whom  madness  drives 
Without  redress  ;  if,  through  his  father's  race 

Born  to  the  noblest  place 
Among  the  war-worn  Greeks,  he  lives 

By  his  own  light  no  more, 
1  Agamemnon  and  Menelaus. 


206  SOPHOCLES. 

Self-aliened  from  tlie  self  he  knew  before. 

Oh,  hapless  sire,  what  woe  thine  ear  shall  wound ! 

One  that  of  all  thy  line  no  life  save  this  hath  found. 

Lewis  Campbell. 

AJAX,   646-692. 

FAREWELL  OF  AJAX  TO  HLS  COMRADES. 

All  strangest  things  the  multitudinous  years 

Bring  forth,  and  shadow  from  us  all  we  know. 

Falter  alike  great  oath  and  steeled  resolve  ; 

And  none  shall  say  of  aught,  "  This  may  not  be." 

Lo  !  I  myself,  but  yesterday  so  strong 

As  new-dipt  steel,  am  weak  and  all  unsexed 

By  yonder  woman  :  yea,  I  mourn  for  them, 

Widow  and  orphan,  left  amid  their  foes. 

But  I  will  journey  seaward  —  where  the  shore 

Lies  meadow-fringed  —  so  haply  wash  away 

My  sin,  and  flee  that  wrath  that  weighs  me  down ; 

And,  lighting  somewhere  on  an  untrodden  way, 

I  will  bury  this  my  sword,  this  hateful  thing, 

Deep  in  some  earth-hole  where  no  eye  shall  see. 

Night  and  hell  keep  it  in  the  under-world  ! 

For  never  to  this  day,  since  first  I  grasped 

The  gift  that  Hector  gave,  my  bitterest  foe, 

Have  I  reaped  aught  of  honor  from  the  Greeks. 

So  true  that  byword  in  the  mouths  of  men, 

"  A  foeman's  gifts  are  no  gifts,  but  a  curse." 

Wherefore  henceforward  shall  I  know  that  God 
Is  great ;  and  strive  to  honor  Atreus'  sons. 
Princes  they  are,  and  should  be  obeyed.    How  else  .'' 
Do  not  all  terrible  and  most  puissant  things 


AJAX.  207 

Yet  bow  to  loftier  majesties  ?     The  Winter, 

Who    walks    forth   scattering   snows,    gives   place 

anon 
To  fruitage-laden  Summer  ;  and  the  orb 
Of  weary  Night  doth  in  her  turn  stand  by, 
And    let   shine    out,    with   her    white    steeds,    the 

Day: 
Stern  tempest-blasts  at  last  sing  lullaby 
To  groaning  seas  :  even  the  arch-tyrant,  Sleep, 
Doth  loose  his  slaves,  not  hold  them  chained  for- 
ever. 
And  shall  not  mankind,  too,  learn  discipline  ? 
I  know,  of  late  experience  taught,  that  him 
Who  is  my  foe  I  must  but  hate  as  one 
Whom  I  may  yet  call  friend  :  and  him  who  loves 

me 
Will  I  but  serve  and  cherish  as  a  man 
Whose  love  is  not  abiding.     Few  be  they 
Who  reaching  friendship's  port  have  there  found 
rest. 
But,  for  these    things   they  shall  be  well.     Go 
thou. 
Lady,  within,  and  there  pray  that  the  gods 
May  fill  unto  the  full  my  heart's  desire ; 
And  ye,  my  mates,  do  unto  me  with  her 
Like  honor ;  bid  young  Teucer,  if  he  comes. 
To  care  for  me,  but  to  be  your  friend  still. 
For  where  my  way  leads,  thither  must  I  go ; 
Do  ye  my  bidding ;  haply  ye  may  hear, 
Though  now  is  my  dark  hour,  that  I  have  peace. 

C.  S.  Calverley. 


208  SOPHOCLES. 


AJAX,   845-865.  [, 

LAST  WORDS   OF    AJAX. 

And    thou   that   mak'st  high  heaven  thy  chariot- 
course, 

0  Sun,  when  gazing  on  my  Fatherland, 
Draw  back  thy  golden  rein,  and  tell  my  woes 
To  the  old  man,  my  father,  and  to  her 
Who  nursed  me  at  her  bosom  —  my  poor  mother ! 
There  will  be  wailing  through  the  echoing  walls 
When  —  but    away  with  thoughts  like  these !    the 

hour 
Brings  on  the  ripening  deed.     Death,  death  !    look 

on  me  — 
Did  I  say  Death  ?  —  it  was  a  waste  of  words ; 
We  shall  be  friends  hereafter. 

'T  is  the  Day, 
Present  and  breatliing  round  me,  and  the  car 
Of  the  sweet  sun,  that  never  shall  again 
Receive  my  greeting  !  —  Henceforth  time  is  sunless, 
And  day  a  thing  that  is  not !      Beautiful  Light, 
My  Salamis  —  my  country,  and  the  floor 
Of  my  dear  household  -  hearth ;    and  thou,  bright 

Athens, 
Thou  —  for  thy  sons  and  I  were  boys  together  — 
Fountains  and  rivers,  and  ye  Trojan  plains, 

1  loved  you  as  my  fosterers  —  fare  ye  well ! 
Take,  in   these  words,  the   last    earth  hears  from 

Ajax. 
All  else  unspoken  ;  in  a  spectre-land 
I  '11  whisper  to  the  Dead. 

Hulwer-Lytton. 


ELECTRA.  209 


ELECTRA,  709-763. 

THE  CHARIOT   RACE. 
They  took  their  stand  where  the  appointed  judges 
Had  cast  their  lots  and  ranged  the  rival  cars. 
Rang  out  the  brazen  trump  !     Away  they  bound, 
Cheer  the  hot  steeds  and  shake  the  slackened  reins ; 
As  with  a  body  the  large  space  is  filled 
With  the  huge  clangor  of  the  rattling  cars. 
High  whirl  aloft  the  dust-clouds  ;  blent  together, 
Each  presses  each  and  the  lash  rings ;  and  loud 
Snort  the  wild  steeds,  and  from  their  fiery  breath, 
Along  their  manes  and  down  the  circling  wheels 
Scatter  the  flaking  foam.     Orestes  still  — 
Aye,  as  he  swept  around  the  perilous  pillar 
Last  in  the  course,  wheeled  in  the  rusliing  axle ; 
The  left  rein  curbed,  —  that  on  the  dexter  hand 
Flung  loose.  —  So  on  erect  the  chariots  rolled  ! 
Sudden  the  Oman's  fierce  and  headlong  steeds 
Broke  from  the  bit  —  and,  as  the  seventh  time  now 
The  course  was  circled,  on  the  Libyan  car 
Dashed  their  wild  fronts :  then  order  changed  to 

ruin : 
Car  crashed  on  car ;  the  wide  Crissaean  plain 
Was  sea-like  strewed  with  wrecks ;   the  Athenian 

saw, 
Slackened  his  speed,  and  wheeling  round  the  marge. 
Unscathed  and  skillful,  in  the  midmost  sjjace, 
Left  the  wild  tumult  of  that  tossing  storm. 
Behind,  Orestes,  hitherto  the  last, 
Had  yet  kept  back  his  coursers  for  the  close ; 
Now  one  sole  rival  lel't  —  on,  on  he  flew. 


210  SOPHOCLES. 

And  the  sharp  sound  of  the  impelling  scourge 
Rang  in  the  keen  ears  of  the  flying  steeds. 
He  nears,  he  reaches  —  they  are  side  by  side  — 
Now  one  —  the  other  —  hy  a  length  the  victor. 
The  courses  all  are  past  —  the  wheels  erect  — 
All  safe  —  when,  as  the  hurrying  coursers  round 
The  fatal  pillar  dashed,  the  wretched  boy 
Slackened  the  left  rein  :  on  the  column's  edge 
Crashed  the  frail  axle :  headlong  from  the  car 
Caught  and  all  meshed  within  the  reins,  he  fell ; 
And  masterless  the  mad  steeds  raged  along  ! 
Loud  from  that  mighty  multitude  arose 
A  shriek  —  a  shout !     But  yesterday  such  deeds, 
To-day  such  doom  !     Now  whirled  upon  the  earth, 
Now  his  limbs  dashed  aloft,  they  dragged  him  — 

those 
Wild  horses  —  till  all  gory  from  the  wheels 
Released ;  —  and  no  man,  not  his  nearest  friends, 
Could  in  that  mangled  corpse  have  traced  OresteSo 
They  laid  the  body  on  the  funeral-pyre ; 
And  while  we  speak,  the  Phocian  strangers  bear, 
In  a  small,  brazen,  melancholy  urn. 
That  handful  of  cold  ashes  to  which  all 
The  grandeur  of  the  Beautiful  hath  shrunk. 

liulwer-iiytton. 


FRAGMENTS   FROM  SOPHOCLES. 

STKANGE  THAT  THE  GODLESS  PROSPER. 

Straxge  is  it  that  the  godless,  who  have  sprung 
From  evil-doers,  should  fare  prosperously, 


FRAGMENTS.  211 

While  good  men,  born  of  noble  stock,  should  be 
By  adverse  fortune  vexed.     It  was  ill  done 
For  the  gods  thus  to  order  lives  of  men. 
What  ought  to  be  is  this,  that  godly  souls 
Should  from  the  gods  gain  some  clear  recompense 
And  the  unjust  pay  some  clear  penalty  ; 
So  none  would  prosper  who  are  base  of  soul. 

E.  H.  Plumptre. 

A  FAIR  EUBCEAN  SHORE. 

There  stretcheth  by  the  sea 
A  fair  Euboean  shore,  and  o'er  it  creeps 
The  vine  of  Bacchos,  each  day's  growth  complete. 
In  morning  brightness  all  the  land  is  green 
With  tendrils  fair  and  spreading.    Noontide  comeS; 
And  then  the  unripe  cluster  forms  apace  : 
The  day  declines,  and  purple  grow  the  grapes  ; 
At  eve  the  Avhole  bright  vintage  is  brought  in 
And  the  mixed  wine  poured  out. 


Plumptre. 


PROSPERITY  UNCERTAIN. 
We  should  not  speak  of  one  who  prospers  well 
As  happy,  till  his  life  have  run  its  course. 
And  reached  its  goal.     An  evil  spirit's  gift 
In  shortest  time  has  oft  laid  low  the  state 
Of  one  full  rich  in  great  prosperity, 
When  the  change  comes,  and  so  the  gods  appoint. 

Flumptre. 


EURIPIDES,  480^06  B.  c. 

ALCESTIS,    435-475. 

FAREWELL   TO   ALCESTIS. 

[When  the  life  of  Admetus  could  be  saved  if  some  one 
■would  die  in  his  stead,  no  one  was  found  willing  except  his 
wife,  Alcestis.] 

Daughter  of  Pelias,  with  farewell  from  me, 

I'  the  house  of  Hades  have  thy  unsunned  home  ! 

Let  Hades  know,  the  dark-haired  deity,  — 

And  he  who  sits  to  row  and  steer  alike, 

Old  corpse-conductor,  let  him  know  he  bears 

Over  the  Acherontian  lake  this  time, 

I'  the  two-oared  boat,  the  best,  —  oh,  best  by  far 

Of  womankind  !      For  thee,  Alkestis  Queen, 

Many  a  time  those  haunters  of  the  Muse 

Shall  sing  thee  to  the  seven-stringed  mountain-shell, 

And  glorify  in  hymns  that  need  no  harp, 

At  Sparta  when  the  cycle  comes  about. 

And  that  Karneian  month  wherein  the  moon 

Rises  and  never  sets  the  whole  night  through : 

So  too  at  splendid  and  magnificent 

Athenai.     Such  the  spread  of  thy  renown, 

And  such  the  lay  that,  dying,  thou  hast  left 

Singer  and  sayer.     Oh  that  I  availed 

Of  my  own  might  to  send  thee  once  again 

From  Hades'  hall,  Kokutos'  stream,  by  help 

O'  the  oar  that  dips  the  river,  back  to-day  ! 


ALCESTIS.  213 

Light  from  above  thee,  lady,  fall  the  earth, 
Thou  only  one  of  womankind  to  die, 
Wife  for  her  husband  I     If  Admetos  take 
Any  thing  to  him  like  a  second  spouse,  — 
Hate  from  his  offspring  and  from  us  shall  be 
His  portion,  let  the  king  assure  himself ! 
No  mind  his  mother  had  to  hide  in  earth 
Her  body  for  her  son's  sake,  nor  his  sire 
Had  heart  to  save  whom  he  begot,  —  not  they, 
The  white-haired  wretches  !  only  thou  it  was, 
I'  the  bloom  of  youth,  didst  save  him  and  so  die ! 
Mio-ht  it  be  mine  to  chance  on  such  a  mate 
And  partner  !     For  there  's  penury  in  life 
Of  such  allowance :  were  she  mine  at  least, 
So  wonderful  a  Avife,  assuredly 
She  would  companion  me  throughout  my  days 
And  never  once  bring  sorrow  ! 

Robert  Browning. 

ALCESTIS,  568-600. 

THE  HOSPITABLE  HOUSE    OF   ADMETUS. 

Harbor  of  many  a  stranger,  free  to  friend. 
Ever  and  always,  O  thou  house  o'  the  man 
We  mourn  for  !     Thee,  ApoUon's  very  self, 
The  lyric  Puthian,  deigned  inhabit  once. 
Become  a  shepherd  here  in  thy  domains. 
And  pipe  adown  the  winding  hillside  paths, 
Pastoral  marriage-poems  to  thy  flocks 
At  feed  :  while  with  them  fed  in  fellowship. 
Through  joy  in  the  nuisic,  S])ot-skin  lynxes ;  ay. 
And  lions  too,  the  bloody  company, 


214  EURIPIDES. 

Came,  leaving  Othrus'  dell ;  and  round  thy  lyre, 
Phoibos,  there  danced  the  speckle-coated  fawn,. 
Pacing  on  lightsome  fetlock  past  the  pines 
Tress-topped,  the  creature's  natural  boundary, 
Into  the  open  everywhere  ;  such  heart 
Had  she  within  her,  beating  joyous  beats. 
At  the  sweet  reassurance  of  thy  song  ! 
Therefore  the  lot  o'  the  master  is  to  live 
In  a  home  multitudinous  with  herds, 
Along  by  the  fair-flowing  Boibian  lake, 
Limited,  that  2)loughed  land  and  pasture-plain, 
Only  where  stand  the  sun's  steeds,  stabled  west 
I'  the  cloud,  by  that  mid-air  which  makes  the  clime 
Of  those  Molossoi :  and  he  rules  as  well 
Oer  the  Aigaian,  up  to  Pelion's  shore,  — 
Sea-stretch  without  a  port !     Such  lord  have  we  : 
And  here  he  opens  house  now,  as  of  old. 
Takes  to  the  heart  of  it  a  guest  again  : 
Though  moist  the  eyelid  of  the  master,  still 
Mourning  his  dear  wife's  body,  dead  but  now  ! 

Browning. 

ALCESTIS,  962-1005. 
THE  STRENGTH  OF  FATE. 

CHORUS. 

In  heaven-high  musings  and  many, 
Far-seeking  and  deep  debate, 

Of  strong  tilings  find  I  not  any 

That  is  as  the  strength  of  Fate. 

Help  nor  healing  is  told 

In  soothsayings  uttered  of  old, 


ALCESTIS.  215 

In  the  Thracian  runes,  the  verses 

Engraven  of  Orpheus'  pen ; 
No  balm  of  virtue  to  save 
Apollo  aforetime  gave, 
Who  stayeth  with  tender  mercies 

The  plagues  of  the  children  of  men. 

She  hath  not  her  habitation 

In  temples  that  hands  have  wrought ; 
Him  that  bringeth  oblation, 

Behold,  she  heedeth  him  naught. 
Be  thou  not  wroth  with  us  more, 
O  mistress,  than  heretofore  ; 
For  what  God  willeth  soever. 

That  thou  bringest  to  be  ; 
Thou  breakest  in  sunder  the  bi'and 
Far  forged  in  the  Iron  Land  ; 
Thine  heart  is  cruel,  and  never 

Came  pity  anigh  unto  thee. 

Thee,  too,  O  King,  hath  she  taken 

And  bound  in  her  tenfold  chain  ; 
Yet  faint  not,  neither  complain  : 

The  dead  thou  wilt  not  awaken 
For  all  thy  weeping  again. 

They  perish,  whom  gods  begot ; 

The  night  releaseth  them  not. 

Beloved  was  she  that  died 

And  dear  shall  ever  abide. 
For  this  was  the  queen  among  women,  Admetus, 
that  lay  by  thy  side. 


216  EURIPIDES. 

Not  as  the  multitude  lowly 

Asleep  in  their  sepulchres, 
Not  as  their  grave  be  hers, 
But  like  as  the  gods  held  holy, 
The  worship  of  wayfarers. 
Yea,  all  that  travel  the  way 
Far  off  shall  see  it  and  say, 
io,  erst  for  her  lord  she  died, 
To-day  she  sitteth  enskied  ; 
Hail,  lady,  he  gracious  to  usward  ;  that  alway  her 
honor  abide. 

Housman. 

MEDEA,   627-662. 
WARNING  FROM  THE  EVIL  FORTUNE  OF  MEDEA. 

CHORUS. 

When  fierce  conflicting  passions  urge 

The  breast  where  love  is  wont  to  glow. 
What  mind  can  stem  the  stormy  surge 

Which  rolls  the  tide  of  human  woe  ? 
The  hope  of  praise,  the  dread  of  shame, 

Can  rouse  the  tortured  breast  no  more  ; 
The  wild  desire,  the  guilty  flame, 

Absorbs  each  wish  it  felt  before. 

But  if  affection  gently  thrills 

The  soul  by  purer  dreams  possessed, 

The  pleasing  balm  of  mortal  ills 

In  love  can  soothe  the  aching  breast : 

If  thus  thou  comest  in  disguise, 

Fair  Venus  !  from  thy  native  heaven, 


MEDEA.  217 

What  heart  unfeeling  would  despise 

The  sweetest  boon  the  gods  have  given  ? 

But  never  from  thy  golden  bow 

May  I  beneath  the  shaft  expire ! 
Whose  creeping  venom,  sure  and  slow, 

Awakes  an  all-consuming  fire  : 
Ye  racking  doubts  !  ye  jealous  fears  ! 

With  others  wage  internal  war  ; 
Repentance,  source  of  future  tears, 

From  me  be  ever  distant  far  ! 

May  no  distracting  thoughts  destroy 

The  holy  calm  of  sacred  love  ! 
May  all  the  hours  be  winged  with  joy, 

Which  hover  faithful  hearts  above  ! 
Fair  Venus  !   on  thy  myrtle  shrine 

May  I  with  some  fond  lover  sigh, 
Whose  heart  may  mingle  pure  with  mine  — 

With  me  to  live,  with  me  to  die  ! 

My  native  soil !  beloved  before. 

Now  dearer  as  my  peaceful  home, 
Ne'er  may  I  quit  thy  rocky  shore, 

A  hapless  banished  wretch  to  roam  ! 
This  very  day,  this  very  hour. 

May  I  resign  this  fleeting  breath ! 
Nor  quit  my  silent  humble  bower  ; 

A  doom  to  me  far  worse  than  death. 

Have  I  not  heard  the  exile's  sigh. 
And  seen  the  exile's  silent  tear. 


218  EURIPIDES.  \ 

Through  distant  climes  condemned  to  fly, 

A  pensive  weary  wanderer  here  ? 
Ah  !  hapless  dame  !  no  sire  bewails, 

No  friend  thy  wretched  fate  deplores, 
No  kindred  voice  with  rapture  hails 

Thy  steps  within  a  stranger's  doors. 

Perish  the  fiend  whose  iron  heart. 

To  fair  affection's  truth  unknown. 
Bids  her  he  fondly  loved  depart, 

Unpitied,  heljiless,  and  alone  : 
Who  ne'er  unlocks  with  silver  key 

The  milder  treasures  of  his  soul,  — 
May  such  a  friend  be  far  from  me. 

And  ocean's  storms  between  us  roll ! 

Byron. 

HIPPOLYTOS,  58-87. 

HIPPOLYTOS  WITH  HIS  HUNTSMEN  SINGING  TO 

ARTEMIS. 

HIPPOLYTOS. 

Come,  follow,  and  sing,  as  you  follow, 
Artemis,  dwelling  in  heaven, 
Daughter  of  Zeus,  who  protects  us  ! 

HUNTSMEN. 

Lady  !  O  lady,  most  holy  and  pure  !  Daughter  of 

Zeus  ! 
Hail  to  thee,  hail  to  thee,  0  thou  virgin 
Artemis,  daughter  of  Leto  and  Zeus ! 
Loveliest  art  thou  of  maidens  by  far, 


EIPPOLYTOS.  219 

Who  within  the  heavens  wide 
Dwellest  within  the  paternal  hall, 
In  the  resplendent  palace  of  Zeus  ! 

HIPPOLYTOS. 

Hail  to  thee,  0  loveliest, 
Loveliest  of  maidens  that  dwell 
In  Olympos,  Artemis  ! 

[Placing  a  wreath  upon  the  statue  of  Artemis, 
This  garland,  woven  from  the  virgin  mead, 
O  lady,  I  have  shaped,  and  bring  to  thee,  — 
Where  neither  shepherd  dares  to  graze  his  flock, 
Nor  yet  has  come  the  scythe,  but  in  the  spring 
The  honey-bee  flits  o'er  the  mead  unshorn, 
And  Reverence  keeps  it  fresh  with  river-dews. 
They  who,  untaught,  within  their  very  souls 
Have  virtue,  shown  in  all  their  deeds  alike, 
May  cuU  therefrom  ;  the  evil  enter  not. 
But  O  dear  lady,  for  thy  golden  hair 
Receive  a  coi'onal  from  a  reverent  hand  ; 
For  I  alone  of  mortals  have  this  rioht. 
With  thee  I  live,  and  answer  thee  in  words, 
Hearing  thy  voice,  but  seeing  not  thj^  face. 
May  I  turn  the  goal  of  life  as  I  began  ! 

Lawton, 

HIPPOLYTOS,    525-564. 

CHORUS,  CELEBRATING  THE  POWER  OF  LOVE. 

Love,  O  Love,  whose  eyes  with  longing 
Overflow,  who  sweet  delight 
Bringest  to  the  soul  thou  stormest, 


220  EURIPIDES. 

Come  not,  pvithee,  sorrow-laden, 
Nor  too  mighty  unto  me  ! 
Neither  flaming  fire  is  stronger, 
Nor  the  splendor  of  the  stars. 
Than  the  shaft  of  Aphrodite, 
Darting  from  the  hands  of  Eros, 
Who  is  child  of  Zeus  supreme. 

Vainly,  vainly,  by  Alpheios, 
Or  in  Phoibos'  Pythian  fane, 
Hellas  heaps  the  slaughtered  oxen ! 
Eros,  of  mankind  the  tyrant, 
Holder  of  the  key  that  locks 
Aphrodite's  dearest  chambers, 
Is  not  honored  in  our  prayers. 
Though  he  comes  as  the  destroyer, 
Bringing  uttermost  disaster, 
Unto  mortals,  when  he  comes. 

That  Oichalian  virgin  girl. 
Never  wedded  nor  a  bride, 
Kypris  hurried  far  away, 
Like  a  frenzied  Bacchanal,  — 
In  the  midst  of  blood  and  smoke. 
And  with  gory  nuptial  rites, 
On  Alcmene's  son  bestowed, 
In  her  wedlock  all  unblest. 

Thou,  0  holy  wall  of  Thebes, 
Well  might  tell,  and  Dirke's  stream, 
How  to  mortals  Kypris  comes. 
For  with  thunder  wrajit  in  fire 


HECUBA.  221 


Bacchos'  mother  low  she  laid 
Wedded  to  a  fearful  fate. 
Terribly  she  breathes  on  all, 
Even  as  a  bee  she  flies. 


Lawton. 


HECUBA,   444r483. 

SONG  OF  THE  CAPTIVE  TROJAN  MAIDEN. 

Bkeeze,  breeze  of  the  sea. 
Who  the  wave-passers  bearest  home 
Swift  and  unwearied  o'er  the  billows'  foam. 
Ah  I  whither  lead'st  thou  me 
Grief-worn  ?  whose  house  must  have 
This  thing  —  a  captured  slave  ? 

Or  shall  I  reach  a  harbor  strand 
Dorian  or  Phthlan,  where  they  tell 

Apidanos  o'erstreams  the  land, 

Father  of  fairest  founts  that  well  ? 

Or  else  some  island  shore, 

Urged,  wretched,  on  my  way  with  brine-splashed 
oar, 
To  lead  a  life  of  weary  sorrow  there, 
Where  the  first  palm  bare  fruit. 
Where  the  bay  raised  each  sacred  shoot 
To  foi  in  a  bower, 
Leto's  protection  in  her  trial  hour  ? 

Or  shall  I,  like  Delian  maiden, 
Sing  of  Artemis  divine, 


222  EURIPIDES. 

Golclen-filletecl,  bow-laden  ? 

Or  at  Pallas'  sacred  shrine 
The  steeds  to  her  fair  chariot  yoke 
To  bear  her,  clad  in  saffron  cloke, 

And  hraid  the  silken  garments  thin 

With  saffron  flowerets  woven  in  ? 

Or  shall  I  sing  the  Titan  brood, 
Whom  Zeus,  great  Kronos'  son, 
Poured  twice-forged  fire  upon, 
And  did  to  lasting  sleep  by  that  fell  bolt  and  rude  ? 

Ah,  sorrow  for  the  young. 
For  those  whose  life  was  long. 

For  all  the  land, 
A  heap  of  smoking  ruin, 
Spear-pierced  to  her  undoing 

By  Argive  hand ! 

And  I  shall  be  a  slave 
Within  a  country  not  my  own, 
Leaving  the  land  that  Europe  has  o'ertlu'own, 

'Scaping  the  chambers  of  the  grave. 

C  Kegan  Paul. 

HECUBA,  521-5S2. 

THE  SACRIFICE  OF  POLYXENA  TO  APPEASE 
THE   SHADE  OF    ACHILLES. 

The  whole  vast  concourse  of  the  Achaian  host 
Stood  round  the  tomb  to  see  your  daughter  die. 
Achilleus'  son  taking  her  by  the  hand, 


HECUBA.  223 

Placed  liev  uiion  the  mound,  and  I  stayed  near ; 
And  youths,  the  flower  of  Greece,  a  chosen  few, 
With  hands  to  check  thy  heifer,  should  she  bound, 
Attended.     From  a  cup  of  carven  gold, 
Raised  full  of  wine,  Achilleus'  son  poured  forth 
Libation  to  his  sire,  and  bade  me  sound 
Silence  throughout  the  whole  Achaian  host. 
I,  standing  there,  cried  in  the  midst  these  words  : 

"  Silence,  Achaians  !  let  the  host  be  still ! 
Hush,  hold  your  voices  !  "     Breathless  stayed  the 

crowd ; 
But  he  :  "  O  son  of  Peleus,  father  mine, 
Take  these  libations  pleasant  to  thy  soul, 
Draughts  that  allure  the    dead  :    come,  drink  the 

black 
Pure  maiden's  blood  Avherewith  the  host  and  I 
Sue  thee :  be  kindly  to  us,  loose  our  prows. 
And  let  our  barks  go  free  :  give  safe  return 
Homeward  from  Troy  to  all,  and  happy  voyage." 
Such  words  he  spake,  and  the  crowd  prayed  assent. 
Then  from  the  scabbard,  by  its  golden  hilt. 
He  drew  the  sword,  and  to  the  chosen  youths 
Signaled    that   they  should  bring  the  maid ;    but 

she, 
Knowing  her  hour  was  come,  spake  thus  and  said  : 

"  O  men  of  Argos,  who  have  sacked  my  town, 
Lo,  of  free  will  I  die  !  let  no  man  touch 
My  body  :  boldly  will  I  stretch  my  throat. 
Nay,  but  I  pray  you  set  me  free,  then  slay  ; 
That  free  I  thus  may  perish :  'mong  the  dead. 
Being  a  queen,  I  blush  to  be  called  slave." 
The  people  shouted,  and  King  Agamemnon 


224  EURIPIDES. 

Bade  the  youths  loose  the  maid  and  set  her  free  : 

She,  when  she  heard  the  order  of  the  chiefs, 

Seizing  her  mantle,  from  the  shoulder  down 

To  the  soft  centre  of  her  snowy  waist 

Tore  it,  and  showed  her  breasts  and  bosom  fair 

As  in  a  statue.     Bending  then  with  knee 

On  earth,  she  spake  a  speech  most  piteous  : 

"  See  you  this  breast,  O  youth  ?    if  breast  you 

will. 
Strike  it ;  take  heart :  or  if  beneath  my  neck, 
Lo  !  here  my  throat  is  ready  for  your  sword !  " 
He  willing  not,  yet  willing,  pity-stirred 
In  sorrow  for  the  maiden,  with  his  blade 
Severed  the  channels  of  her  breath  :  blood  flowed  ; 
And  she,  though  dying,  still  had  thought  to  fall 
In  seemly  wise,  hiding  what  eyes  should  see  not. 
But   when   she    breathed   her    life    out    from   the 

blow. 
Then  was  the  Argive  host  in  divers  way 
Of  service  parted  ;  for  some,  bringing  leaves, 
Strewed  them  upon  the  corpse  ;  some  piled  a  pyre. 
Dragging  pine    trunks  and  boughs ;    and   he  who 

bore  none. 
Heard  from  the  bearers  many  a  bitter  word  : 

"  Standest    thou,    villain  ?     Hast   thou   then    no 

robe, 
No  funeral  honors  for  the  maid  to  bringf  ? 
Will  thou  not  go  and  get  for  her  who  died 
Most  nobly,  bravest-souled,  some  gift  ?  "   Thus  they 
Spake  of  thy  child  in  death,  O  thou  most  blest 
Of  women  in  thy  daughter,  most  undone ! 

J.  A.  Syvionds. 


HECUBA.  225 


HECUBA,  905-952. 

A  TROJAN  WIFE  NARRATES  THE  FALL  OF 

TROY. 

Thou,  then,  O  natal  Troy  !  no  more 
The  city  of  the  unsackecl  shalt  be, 
So  thick  from  dark  Achaia's  shore 
The  cloud  of  war  hath  covered  thee. 

Ah  !  not  again  I  tread  thy  plain  — 
The  spear  —  the  spear  hath  rent  thy  pride, 
The  flame  hath  scarred  thee  deep  and  wide ; 

Thy  coronal  of  towers  is  shorn, 
And  thou  most  piteous  ai-t  —  most  naked  and  for- 
lorn ! 

I  perished  at  the  noon  of  night ! 
When  sleep  had  sealed  each  weary  eye ; 

When   the    dance  was   o'er,  and  harps  no 
more 
Rang  out  in  choral  minstrelsy. 
In  the  dear  bower  of  delight 
My  husband  slept  in  joy  ; 

His  shield  and  spear  suspended  near. 
Secure  he  slept  :  that  sailor  band 
Full  sure  he  deemed  no  more  should  stand 
Beneath  the  walls  of  Troy. 

And  I  too,  by  the  taper's  light, 

Which  in  the  golden  mirror's  haze 
Flashed  its  interminable  rays, 


226  EURIPIDES. 

Bound  up  the  tresses  of  my  hair, 

That  I  Love's  peaceful  sleep  might  share. 

I  slept ;  but,  hark  !  that  war-shout  dread, 
Which  rolling  through  the  city  spread  ; 
And  this  the  cry,  —  "  When,  Sons  of  Greece, 
When  shall  the  lingering  leaguer  cease  ? 
When  will  ye  spoil  Troy's  watch-tower  high. 
And  home  return  ?  "  —  I  heard  the  cry, 
And,  starting  from  the  genial  bed. 
Veiled,  as  a  Doric  maid,  I  fled. 
And  knelt,  Diana,  at  thy  holy  fane, 
A  trembling  suppliant  —  all  in  vain. 

They  led  me  to  the  sounding  shore  — 

Heavens  !   as  I  passed  the  crowded  way 
My  bleeding  lord  before  me  lay  — 

I  saw  —  I  saw  —  and  wept  no  more, 

Till,  as  the  homeward  breezes  bore 

The  bark  returning  o'er  the  sea. 

My  gaze,  0  Ilion,  turned  on  thee ! 

Then,  frantic,  to  the  midnight  air, 

I  cursed  aloud  the  adulterous  pair  : 

"  They  plunged  me  deep  in  exile's  woe  ; 

They  laid  my  country  low  : 

Their  love  —  no  love  !  but  some  dark  spell, 
In  vengeance  breathed,  by  spirit  fell. 

Rise,  hoary  sea,  in  awful  tide, 

And  whelm  that  vessel's  guilty  pride ; 

Nor  e'er,  in  high  Mycenae's  hall. 

Let  Helen  boast  in  peace  of  mighty  Ilion's  fall." 

J.  T.  Coleridge. 


HELENA.  227 

HELENA,  1451-1511. 
HELEN'S  RETURN  TO   GREECE. 

CHORUS. 

Fair  be  thy  speed,  Sidonian  ship  ! 
Thine  oars,  familiar  to  the  oarsman's  grip, 

Fall  fast,  and  make  the  surges  bound, 

And  lead  along  the  dolphin  train, 
While  all  around 

The  winds  forego  to  vex  the  main. 
And  the  mariners  hear 

The  sea-king's  daughter  calling  clear, 
"  Now,  sails  to  the  breeze,  fling  out,  fling  out, 
Now  pull,  strong  arms,  to  the  cheering  shout ; 
Speed  royal  Helen,  away  and  away. 
To  Argos  home,  to  the  royal  bay." 

What  sacred  hour,  what  festal  tide 
Shall  bring  fair  Helen  to  Eurotas'  side  ? 

Say,  shall  the  Spartan  maidens  dance 

Before  Leucippis  then  ?     Or  meet 
That  day  perchance 

At  Pallas'  gate  ?     Or  shall  they  greet 
Thee,  lost  so  long, 

With  lost  Hyacinthus'  nightly  song, 
How  Phoeljus  slew  him  with  quoit  far-flown, 
And  yearly  the  maidens  with  mourning  atone  ? 
There  is  one  of  them,  Helen,  one  fair  of  the  fair, 
Who  will  not  be  wife  till  her  mother  be  there ! 

O  for  wings  to  fly 
Where  the  flocks  of  fowl  together 


228  EURIPIDES.  ;j 


il 


Quit  the  Afrlc  sky, 
Late  their  refuge  from  the  wintry  weather ! 
All  the  way  with  solemn  sound 
Rings  the  leader's  clarion  cry 
O'er  dewless  deserts  and  glad  harvest  ground. 
We  would  bid  them,  as  they  go, 
Neck  by  neck  against  the  cloud 
Racing  nightly  'neath  the  stars, 
When  Eurotas  rolls  below. 
Light  and  leave  a  message  loud. 
How  princely  Menelaus,  proud 
With  conquest,  cometh  from  the  Dardan  wars. 

Come,  eternal  Pair,^ 

Come,  Twin  Brethren,  from  your  heaven  ascended ; 
Down  the  steep  of  air 

Drive,  by  many  a  starry  glance  attended  ! 
'Mid  the  waters  white  and  blue, 
'Mid  the  rolling  waves  be  there, 

And  brotherly  bring  safe  your  sister  through. 
Airs  from  heaven,  serene  and  pure. 
Breathe  upon  her  ;  bless  and  speed  ; 
Breathe  away  her  cruel  shame ! 
Never  her  did  Paris  lure. 
Never  won  her  (as  they  rede) 
Of  Aphrodite  for  his  meed. 

Nor  thither  led,  where  never  yet  she  came  ! 

Verrall. 

1  Castor  and  Pollux,  brothers  of  Helen,  set  in  the  heavens 
as  the  constellation  of  the  Twins  and  supposed  to  be  propi- 
tious to  mariners. 


ORESTES.  229 

ORESTES,  132-315. 

ELECTRA  AND  ORESTES. 

[Orestes,  having  slain  his  mother  to  avenge  her  murder  of 
his  father,  is  hounded  by  the  Furies.  In  the  following  scene 
he  is  sleeping  and  his  sister  Electra  is  watching  by  his  bed- 
side.] 

ELECTKA. 

Here  come  my  friends  again  with  lamentations, 
To  join  their  wails  with  mine  :  They  '11  drive  him 

far 
From  placid  slumber,  and  will  waste  mine  eyes 
With  weeping  when  I  see  my  brother  mad. 

[To  the  Chorus. 

O  dearest  maidens,  tread  with  feet  of  wool ; 
Come  softly,  make  no  rustling,  raise  no  cry  : 
For  though  your  kindness  be  right  dear  to  me, 
Yet  to  wake  him  will  work  me  double  mischief. 

CHORUS. 

Softly,  softly  !  let  your  tread 
Fall  upon  the  ground  like  snow! 
Every  sound  be  dumb  and  dead : 
Breathe  and  speak  in  murmurs  low  ! 

ELECTRA. 

Further  from  the  couch,  I  pray  you ;  further  yet, 
and  yet  away ! 

CHORUS. 

Even  so,  dear  maid,  you  see  that  I  obey. 


230  EURIPIDES. 

ELECTRA. 

Ah,  my  friend,  speak  softly,  slowly, 
Like  the  sighing  of  a  rush. 

CHORUS. 

See  I  speak  and  answer  lowly 
With  a  stealthy  smothered  hush. 

ELECTRA. 

That  is  right :  come  hither  now  ;  come  boldly  for- 
ward to  my  side  ; 

Come,  and  say  what  need  hath  brought  you  :  for 
at  length  with  watching  tried, 

Lo,  he  sleeps,  and  on  the  pillow  spreads  his  limbs 
and  tresses  wide. 

CHORUS. 

How  is  he  ?  dear  lady,  say  : 
Let  us  hear  your  tale  and  know 
Whether  you  have  joy  to-day, 
Whether  sorrow  brings  you  low. 

ELECTRA. 

He  is  breathing  still,  but  slightly  groaning  in  his 
sleep  alway. 

CHORUS. 

Oh,  poor  man  !  but  tell  us  plainer  what  you  say. 

ELECTRA. 

Hush  !  or  you  will  scare  the  pleasant 
Sleep  that  to  his  eyelid  brings 
Brief  oblivion  of  the  present. 


ORESTES.  231 

CHORUS. 

Ah,  thrice  wretched  race  that  springs 
Burdened   with  the   god-sent   curses   of  abhorred 
deeds ! 

ELECTKA. 

Ah,  me  ! 

Guilty  was  the  voice  of  Phoebus,  when  enthroned 
for  prophecy, 

He  decreed  my  mother's  murder  —  mother  mur- 
dered guiltily ! 

CHORUS. 

Look  you,  lady,  on  his  bed. 
How  he  gently  stirs  and  sighs  ! 

ELECTRA. 

Woe  is  me !  His  sleep  hath  fled. 
Frightened  by  your  noisy  cries  ! 

CHORUS. 

Nay,  I  thought  he  sleeping  lay. 

ELECTRA. 

Hence,  I  bid  you,  hence  away 
From  the  bedside,  from  the  house  ! 

Cease  your  noise ; 

Subdue  your  voice  ; 
Stay  not  here  to  trouble  us  ! 

CHORUS. 

He  is  sleeping,  and  you  rightly  caution  us. 


232  EURIPIDES. 

ELECTRA. 

Holy  mother,  mother  Night ! 
Thou  who  sheddest  sleep  on  every  wearied  wight ! 

Arise  from  Erebus,  arise 

With  plumy  pinions  light : 
Hover   o'er   the    house  of   Atreus  ;   and  upon  our 
aching  eyes, 

Wearied  with  woe, 

With  gi'ief  brought  low, 

Solace  bring  'mid  miseries. 

{To  the  Chorus. 

Silence  !  Hush  !    what  noise  was  this  ? 

Can  you  ne'er  your  tongue  restrain, 

And  allow  soft  slumber's  kiss 

To  refresh  his  fevered  brain  ? 

CHORUS. 

Tell  me,  lady,  what  the  close 
Of  his  grief  is  like  to  be  ? 

ELECTRA. 

Death.     Naught  else  will  end  his  woes. 
Lo,  he  fasts  continually. 

CHORUS. 

Alas  !  Alas  !  his  fate  is  sure. 

ELECTRA. 

By  the  promise  to  make  pure 
Hands  a  mother's  lifeblood  stained, 

Phcebus  brought 

Woe,  and  wrought 
All  the  grief  that  we  have  gained. 


ORESTES.  233 

CHORUS. 

Just  it  was  to  slay  the  slayer ;  yet  the  deed  with 
crime  was  fraught. 

ELECTRA. 

Thou  art  dead  :  oh,  thou  art  dead, 

Mother,  who  didst  hear  me  !  mother,  who  didst  shed 

A  father's  hlood,  and  slay 

The  children  of  thy  bed  ! 
We  are  dying,  we  are  dying,  like  the  dead,  and 
weak  as  they : 

For  thou  art  gone, 

And  I  am  wan, 

Weeping,  sighing  night  and  day ! 

Look  upon  me,  friends,  behold 

How  my  withered  life  must  run. 

Childless,  homeless,  sad  and  cold. 

Comfortless  beneath  the  sun. 

CHOKUS. 

Come  hither,  maid  Electra,  to  the  couch  : 
Lest  haply  he  should  breathe  his  life  away 
Unheeded  :    I  like  not  this  deep  dead  languor. 

OKESTES    {awaking). 

0  soothing  Sleep  !  dear  friend  !  best  nurse  of  sick- 

ness ! 
How  sweetly  came  you  in  my  hour  of  need. 
Blest  Lethe  of  all  woes,  how  wise  you  are. 
How  worthy  of  the  prayers  of  wretched  men  ! 
Whence  came  I  to  this  place?     How  journeyed  I  ? 

1  cannot  think  :  my  former  mind  is  vanished. 


234  EURIPIDES. 

ELBCTRA. 

0  dearest,  how  hath  your  sleep  gladdened  me ! 
Say,  can  I  help  to  soothe  or  raise  your  body  ? 

OKESTES. 

Yes,  take  me,  take  me  :  with  your  kind  hands  wipe 
The  foam  of  fever  from  my  lips  and  eyes. 

•>  EliECTRA. 

Sweet  is  this  service  to  me ;  I  am  glad 
To  soothe  my  brother  with  a  sister's  hand. 

ORESTES. 

Support  me  with  your  breast  and  fan  my  forehead  ; 
Brush  the  loose  hair :  I  scarce  can  see  for  sickness. 

ELECTRA. 

Poor  head  !     How  rough  and  tangled  are  the  curls, 
How  haggard  is  your  face  with  long  neglect ! 

ORESTES. 

Now  lay  me  back  upon  the  bed  again  : 

When  the  fit  leaves  me,  I  am  weak  and  helpless. 

ELECTRA. 

Yea ;  and  the  couch  is  some  relief  in  sickness, 
A  Sony  friend,  but  one  that  must  be  borne  with. 

ORESTES. 

Raise  me  once  more  upright,  and  turn  my  body ; 
Sick    men    are    hard    to    please  through  wayward 
weakness. 


ORESTES.  235 

ELECTRA. 

How  would  you  like  to  put  your  feet  to  earth  ? 
'T  is   long    since    you    stood   up ;    and  change     is 
pleasant. 

ORESTES. 

True  :  for  it  gives  a  show  of  seeming  health ; 
And  shows  are   good,   although  there  he  no  suh- 

stance. 

[Orestes  sits  up. 

ELECTRA. 

Now  listen  to  me,  dearest  brother  mine, 

"Wliile  the  dread  Furies  leave  you  space  to  think. 

ORESTES. 

What  have  you  new  to  say  ?   Good  news  will  cheer 

me  ; 
But  of  what 's  bad  I  have  enough  already. 

ELECTRA. 

Menelaus  is  here,  your  father's  brother  : 
His  ships  are  safely  moored  in  Nauplia. 

ORESTES. 

What !     Has  he  come  to  end  your  woes  and  mine  ? 
He  is  our  kinsman  and  our  father's  debtor. 

ELECTRA. 

He  has  :  and  this  is  surety  for  my  words  — 
Helen  hath  come  with  him  from  Troy,  is  here. 

ORESTES. 

If  heaven  had  saved  but  him,  he  'd  now  be  happier : 
But  with  his  wife,  he  brings  a  huge  curse  home. 


236  EURIFIDES. 

ELECTKA. 

Yea ;  Tyndareus  begat  a  brood  of  daughters 
Marked  out  for  obloquy,  a  shame  through  Hellas. 

OKESTES. 

Be  you,  then,  other  than  the  bad  ;  you  can : 
Make  not  fine  speeches,  but  be  rightly  minded  ! 

ELECTKA. 

Ah  me,  my  brother  !  your  eyes  roll  and  tremble  — 
One  moment  sane,  and  now  swift  frenzy  fires  you ! 

ORESTES  {seeing   the  Furies  again). 
Mother,  I  sue  to  thee :  nay,  mother,  hound  not 
Those  blood-faced,  snake-encircled  women  on  me ! 
There  !    There  !   See  there  —  close  by  they  bound 
upon  me ! 

ELECTKA. 

Stay,  wretched  brother  ;  start  not  from  the  bed  ! 
For  naught  you  see  of  what  seems  clear  and  certain. 

OKESTES. 

0  Phoebus !  They  Avill  slay  me,  those  dog-faced 
Fierce-eyed,  infernal  ministers,  dread  goddesses  ! 

ELECTKA. 

1  wUl  not  leave  you  !  but  with  woven  arms 
"Will  stay  you  from  the  direful  spasm-throes. 

OKESTES. 

Let  go  !  [Hurling  Electra  from  him. 


ORESTES.  237 

Of  my  damned  Furies  thou  art  one, 
That  with  thy  grip  wouldst  hale  me  down  to  hell ! 

ELBCTRA. 

Ah,  woe  is  me !  what  succor  shall  I  find, 
Seeing  the  very  gods  conspire  against  us  ? 

ORESTES. 

Give  me  my  bow  and  arrows,  Phoebus'  gift, 
Wherewith  Apollo  bade  me  fight  the  fiends. 
If  they  should  scare  me  with  wild-eyed  delirium. 
Some  god  shall  feel  the  fury  of  man's  hand. 
Unless  ye  vanish  foi-th  from  out  my  sight ! 

[Addressing  the  phantoms. 
Hear  ye  not  ?     See  ye  not  the  feathery  wings 
Of  swift,  sure-striking  shafts,  ready  to  flutter  ? 
Ha!  Ha! 

Why  linger  here  ?     Go,  sweep  with  outspread  pin- 
ions 
The  windy  sky  !     Hence,  and  complain  of  Phcebus  ! 

Woe  's  me  ! 

[Recovering  his  reason. 

Why  waste  I  breath,  wearying  my  lungs  in  vain  ? 

Where  am    I  ?       From  my  bed  how  leaped  I  — 

when  ? 

'Midmost  the  waves  once  more  I  see  fair  weather. 

Sister,  why  weep  you  ?     Wherefore  veil  your  head  ? 

I  blush  to  see  you  partner  of  my  woe. 

Blush  that  a  girl  should  suffer  in  my  sickness. 

Nay,  do  not  pine  thus,  bowed  beneath  my  burden  — 

All  mine  ;  —  you  said  but  yea,  't  was  I  who  shed 

Our  mother's  blood  :  but  Loxias  I  blame, 


238  EURIPIDES. 

Who  urging  nie  to  most  unholy  deeds 

Helped  me  with  words,  in  act  av'ailed  me  nothing. 

Yea,  and  I  think  my  sire,  if,  face  to  face, 

I  asked  him  —  is  it  right  to  slay  my  mother  ? 

Would  lengthen  many  prayers,  beseeching  me 

Never  to  draw  my  sword  on  her  who  bare  me, 

Seeing  he  might  not  see  the  sun  again. 

And  I  am  doomed  to  bear  this  weight  of  horrors.  — 

But  now  unveil  your  face  again,  dear  sister, 

And  cease  from  weeping  —  even  though  we  be 

Ringed  round  with  sorrows.     When  you    see    me 

downcast, 
Soothe  you  my  terror  and  my  frenzied  soul  — 
Soothe  and  caress  me ;  yea,  and  when  you  moan, 
'T  is  mine  to  stay  and  comfort  as  I  can  : 
For  these  kind  services  of  friends  are  fair. 
But,  dear,  sad  sister,  go  into  the  house, 
And  give  your  watchful  eyes  to  sleep  and  rest ; 
Take  food,  and  with  fair  water  bathe  yourself. 
For  think,  if  you  should  fail  me,  if  by  watching 
You  take  some  sickness,  then  we  're  lost :  't  is  you. 
You  only,  are  my  help  ;  all  else  is  vanished. 

ELECTRA. 

Not  so.     With  you  to  die  I  choose,  with  you 
To  live  :  it  is  all  one  ;  for  if  you  perish. 
What  shall  I  do  —  a  woman  ?     How  shall  I, 
Brotherless,  friendless,  fatherless,  alone, 
Live  on  ?     Nay,  if  you  ask  it,  I  will  do 
Your  will  :  but,  brother,  rest  you  on  your  bed  ; 
Nor  take  the  terror  and  the  startling  fear 
For  more  than  phantoms  ;   stay  upon  the  couch. 


IPniGENIA   AT  AULIS.  239 

For  though  one  is  not  sick,  and  only  seems, 
Yet  is  this  pain  and  weariness  to  mortals. 

J.  A.  Symonds. 

IPHIGENIA  AT   AULIS,  1036-1097. 

THE  WEDDING  OF  PELEUS  AND   THETIS. 

Merrily  rose  the  bridal  strain. 
With  the  pijie  of  reed  and  the  wild  harp  ringing, 
With  the  Libyan  flute,  and  the  dancers'  train. 

And  the  bright-haired  Muses  singing. 

On  the  turf  elastic  treading. 
Up  Pelion's  steep  with  an  airy  bound 
Their  golden  sandals  they  struck  on  the  ground, 
While  the  mighty  gods  were  feasting  round, 
As  they  sped  to  Peleus'  wedding. 
They  left  Pieria's  fountain. 
On  the  leaf-crowned  hill  they  stood, 
They  breathed  their  softest,  sweetest  lays 
In  the  bride's  and  bridegroom's  praise. 
Reechoed  the  Centaur's  mountain, 
Reechoed  Pelion's  wood. 

The  golden  goblets  crowned  the  Page, 

The  Thunderer's  darling  boy. 
In  childhood's  rosy  age 

Snatched  from  the  plains  of  Troy. 

Where  on  the  silvery  sand 
The  noontide  sun  was  glancing, 

The  fifty  Nereids,  hand  in  hand, 
Were  in  giddy  circles  dancing. 


240  EURI  FIDES. 

The  Centaurs'  tramp  rang  up  the  hill, 
To  feast  with  the  gods  they  trooped  in  haste, 
And  at  the  board  by  Bacchus  graced. 

The  purpling  bowl  to  fill. 
Grassy  wreath  and  larch's  bough 
Twined  around  each  shaggy  brow. 
Daughter  of  Nereus,  loud  to  thee 
Chaunted  the  maids  of  Thessaly. 
Their  song  was  of  a  child  miborn,-^ 
Whose  light  should  beam  like  summer  morn, 
Whose  praise  by  the  Delian  seer  was  sung. 
And  hymned  by  Chiron's  tuneful  tongue. 

"  Thetis,  mark  thy  warrior  son, 
Girt  with  many  a  Myrmidon, 
Armed  with  spear  and  flaming  brand, 
Wasting  Priam's  ancient  land. 
He  shall  ne'er  to  foeman  quail ; 
He  shall  case  his  limbs  in  mail, 
Casque,  and  greaves,  and  breastplate's  fold, 
All  by  Vulcan  wrought  of  gold, 
Moulded  in  the  forge  of  heaven, 
By  his  goddess-mother  given. 
His  shall  be  a  hero's  name. 
Godlike  mioht,  and  deathless  fame." 


e> 


Thus  the  gods  propitious  smiled 
On  Peleus  and  the  ocean  child  ; 
Lady  !  not  such  nuptial  wreath 
Shall  Argives  bid  thee  wear, 


Achilles. 


HERCULES  FURENS.  241 


Anstice. 


But  with  the  flowers  of  death 
Entwine  thy  clustering  hair. 

HERCULES  FURENS,  G37-672. 
YOUTH  AND  AGE. 

CHORUS. 

Youth  is  a  pleasant  burthen  to  me  ; 

But  age  on  my  head,  more  heavily 

Than  the  crags  of  Aitna,  weighs  and  weighs, 

And  darkening  cloaks  the  lids  and  intercepts  the 

rays. 
Never  be  mine  the  preference 
Of  an  Asian  empire's  wealth,  nor  yet 
Of  a  house  all  gold,  to  youth,  to  youth 
That 's  beauty,  whatever  the  gods  dispense  ! 
Whether  in  wealth  we  joy,  or  fret 
Paupers,  —  of  all  God's  gifts  most  beautiful,  in  truth ! 

But  miserable  murderous  age  I  hate  ! 
Let  it  go  to  wreck,  the  waves  adown. 
Nor  ever  by  rights  plague  tower  or  town 
Where  mortals  bide,  but  still  elate 
With  wings,  on  ether,  precipitate, 
Wander  them  round  —  nor  wait ! 

But  if  the  gods  to  man's  degree. 

Had  wit  and  wisdom,  they  would  bring 

Mankind  a  twofold  youth,  to  be 

Their  virtue's  sign-mark,  all  should  see, 

In  those  with  whom  life's  winter  thus  grew  spring. 


242  EURIPIDES. 

For  when  tliey  died,  into  the  sun  once  more 
Would  they  have  traversed  twice  life's  race-course 

o'er  ; 
While  ignobility  had  simply  run 
Existence  through,  nor  second  life  begun. 
And  so  might  we  discern  both  bad  and  good 
As  surely  as  the  starry  multitude 
Is  numbered  by  the  sailors,  one  and  one. 
But  now  the  gods  by  no  apparent  line 
Limit  the  worthy  and  the  base  define  ; 
Only  a  certain  pei'iod  rounds,  and  so 
Brings  man  more  wealth,  —  but  youthful  vigor,  no  ! 

Well !  I  am  not  to  pause 

Mingling  together  —  wine  and  wine  in  cup  — 

The  Graces  with  the  Muses  up  — 

Most  dulcet  marriage  :  loosed  from  music's  laws, 

No  life  for  me  ! 

But  where  the  wreaths  abound,  there  ever  may  I 

be! 
And  still,  an  aged  bard,  I  shout  Mnemosune  — 
StiU  chant  of  Herakles  the  triumph-chant, 
Companioned  by  the  seven-stringed  tortoise-shell 
And  Libuan  flute,  and  Bromios'  self  as  well, 
God  of  the  grape,  with  man  participant ! 
Nor  yet  will  we  arrest  their  glad  advance  — 
The  Muses  who  so  long  have  led  me  forth  to  dance  ! 
A  paian  —  hymn  the  Delian  girls  indeed, 
Weaving  a  beauteous  measure  in  and  out 
His  temple-gates,  Latona's  goodly  seed  ; 
And  paians  —  I  too,  these  thy  domes  about, 
From  these  gray  cheeks,  my  king,  will  swan-like 

shout  — 


ION.  243 

Old  songster !  Ay,  in  song  it  starts  off  brave  — 
'"  Zeus'  son. is  he  !  "  and  yet,  such  grace  of  birth 
Surpassing  far,  to  man  his  labors  gave 
Existence,  one  calm  flow  without  a  wave, 
Having  destroyed  the  beasts,  the  terrors  of  the  earth. 

Robert  Browning. 

lON,^    153-180. 

ION  AND  THE    BIRDS. 
Behold  !  behold ! 
Now  they  come,  they  quit  the  nest 
On  Parnassus'  topmost  crest. 
Hence  !  away  !  I  warn  ye  all ! 
Light  not  on  our  hallowed  wall  I 
From  eave  and  cornice  keep  aloof. 
And  from  the  golden  gleaming  roof  ! 
Herald  of  Jove  !  of  birds  the  king  ! 
Fierce  of  talon,  strong  of  wing, 
Hence  !  begone  !  or  thou  shalt  know 
The  terrors  of  this  deadly  bow. 
Lo  !  where  rich  the  altar  fumes. 
Soars  yon  swan  on  oary  plumes. 
Hence,  and  quiver  in  thy  flight 
Thy  foot  that  gleams  with  purple  light, 
Even  though  Phoebus'  harj)  rejoice 
To  mingle  with  thy  tuneful  voice  ; 
Far  away  thy  white  wings  shake 
O'er  the  silver  Uelian  lake. 

1  The  Ion  of  Euripides  is  to  me  a  charming  play.  The 
opening  scene  of  the  boy  employed  in  scaring  the  birds 
from  the  temple  of  Apollo  —  a  sort  of  young  pagan  Aco- 
lyth  —  is  full  of  grace  and  fancy.  —  Milman. 


244  EURIPIDES. 

Hence  !  obey  !  or  end  in  blood 
The  music  of  thy  sweet-voiced  ode. 

Away  !  away  !  another  stoops  ! 

Down  his  flagging  pinion  droops ; 

Shall  our  marble  eaves  be  hung 

With  straw  nests  for  your  callow  young  ? 

Hence,  or  dread  this  twanging  bow, 

Hence,  where  Alpheus'  waters  flow. 

Or  the  Isthmian  groves  among 

Go  and  rear  your  nestling  young. 

Hence,  nor  dare  pollute  or  stain 

Phoebus'  offerings,  Phoebus'  fane. 

Yet  I  feel  a  sacred  dread, 

Lest  your  scattered  plumes  I  shed  ; 

Holy  birds  !  't  is  yours  to  show 

Heaven's  auguries  to  men  below. 

Milman. 


TROADES,  308-340.  ' 


CASSANDRA'S  WILD  MAERIAGE-SONG. 

A  LIGHT !  a  light !  rise  up,  be  swift ; 
I  seize,  I  worship,  and  I  lift 
The  bridal  torches'  festal  rays, 
Till  all  the  burning  fane  's  ablaze  ! 

Hymen  !  Hymensean  king  ! 
Look  there  !  look  there  !  what  blessings  wait 
Upon  the  bridegroom's  nuptial  state  ! 
And  I,  how  blest,  who  pi'oudly  ride 
Through  Argos'  streets,  a  queenly  bride ! 

Go  thou,  my  mother  !  go  ! 


TROADES.  245 

With  many  a  gushing  tear 

And  frantic  shriek  of  woe. 
Wail  for  thy  sire,  thy  country  dear ! 

I  the  while,  in  bridal  glee, 
Lift  the  glowing,  ghttering  fire. 

Hymen  !   Hymen  !  all  to  thee 
Flames  the  torch  and  rmgs  the  lyre ! 
Bless,  0  Hecate,  the  rite  ; 
Send  thy  soft  and  holy  light 
To  the  virgin's  nuptial  bed. 
Lightly  lift  the  airy  tread  ! 
Evan  !  Evan  !  dance  along ! 
Holy  are  the  dance  and  song. 
Meetest  they  to  celebrate 
My  father  Priam's  blissful  fate. 
Dance,  O  Phoebus,  dance  and  sing! 

Round  thy  laurel-shaded  fane 

Still  I  lead  the  priestess'  train. 
Hymen  I   Hyraenaean  king ! 
Dance,  my  mother,  lift  thy  feet! 

Here  and  there  the  cadence  keep 

With  thy  light  and  frolic  step  ! 
Sing  the  Hymensean  sweet, 

With  many  a  gladsome  melody 

And  jocund  nymph's  exultant  cry. 

Beauteous-vested  maids  of  Troy, 

Sing  my  song  of  nuptial  joy ! 

Sing:  the  fated  husband  led 

To  my  virgin  bridal-bed. 

Milman. 


246  EURIPIDES. 


BACCHiE,  862-911. 

CHORUS  OF  BACCHANALS. 

0  WHEN,  through  the  long  night, 

With  fleet  foot  glancing  white, 
Shall  I  go  dancing  in  my  revelry, 

]\Iy  neck  cast  back,  and  bare 

Unto  the  dewy  air, 
Like  sportive  fawn  in  the  green  meadow's  glee  ? 

Lo,  in  her  fear  she  springs 

Over  the  encircling  rings, 
.Over  the  well-woven  nets  far  off  and  fast ; 

While  swift  along  her  track 

The  huntsman  cheers  his  pack, 
With  panting  toil,  and  fiery  storm-wind  haste. 
Where    down    the     river-bank    spreads    the   wide 
meadow, 

Rejoices  she  in  the  untrod  solitude. 
Couches  at  length  beneath  the  silent  shadow 

Of  the  old  hospitable  wood. 

What  is  wisest  ?  what  is  fairest, 
Of  God's  boons  to  man  the  rarest? 
With  the  conscious  conquering  hand 
Above  the  foeman's  head  to  stand. 
What  is  fairest  still  is  dearest. 

Slow  come,  but  come  at  length, 
In  their  majestic  strength, 
Faithful  and  true,  the  avenging  deities : 
And  chastening  human  folly. 
And  the  mad  pride  unholy, 


BACCHuE.  247 

Of  those  who  to  the  Gods  bow  not  their  knees. 

For  hidden  still  and  mute, 

AS  glides  their  printless  foot, 
The  impious  on  their  winding  path  they  hound. 

For  it  is  ill  to  know, 

And  it  is  ill  to  do, 
Beyond  the  law's  inexorable  bound. 
'T  is  but  light  cost,  in  his  own  power  sublime, 

To  array  the  Godhead,  whosoe'er  he  be ; 
And  Law  is  old,  even  as  the  oldest  time, 

Nature's  own  unrepealed  decree. 

What  is  wisest  ?  what  is  fairest. 
Of  God's  boons  to  man  the  rarest? 
With  the  conscious  conquering  hand 
Above  the  foeman's  head  to  stand. 
What  is  fairest  still  is  rarest. 

Who  hath  'scaped  the  turbulent  sea, 
And  reached  the  haven,  happy  he  ! 
Happy  he  whose  toils  are  o'er, 
In  the  race  of  wealth  and  power ! 
This  one  here,  and  that  one  thei'e. 
Passes  by,  and  everywhere 
Still,  expectant  thousands  over. 
Thousand  hopes  are  seen  to  hover. 
Some  to  mortals  end  in  bliss  ; 

Some  have  already  fled  away  : 
Happiness  alone  is  his, 

That  happy  is  to-day. 

Milman, 


248  EURIPIDES. 

CYCLOPS,  41-81.  ^ 

CHORUS  OF  SATYRS,  DRIVING  THEIR  GOATS.  | 

Where  has  he  of  race  divine 

Wandered  in  the  winding  rocks  ? 
Hei-e  the  air  is  calm  and  fine 

For  the  father  of  the  flocks  ; 
Here  the  grass  is  soft  and  sweet. 
And  the  river-eddies  meet 
In  the  trough  beside  the  cave, 
Brisfht  as  in  their  fountain  wave. 
Neither  here,  nor  on  the  dew 

Of  the  lawny  uplands  feeding  ? 
Oh,  you  come  !  —  a  stone  at  you 

AVill  I  throw  to  mend  your  breeding ; 
Get  along,  you  horned  thing, 
Wild,  seditious,  rambling  ! 


An  lacchic  melody 

To  the  golden  Aj)hrodite  j 

Will  I  lift,  as  erst  did  I 

Seeking  her  and  her  delight 
With  the  Msenads,  whose  white  feet 
To  the  music  glance  and  fleet. 
Bacchus,  O  beloved,  where 
Shaking  wide  thy  yellow  hair, 
Wanderest  thou  alone,  afar  ? 

To  the  one-eyed  Cyclops  we. 
Who  by  right  thy  servants  are, 

Minister  in  misery. 


FRAGMENTS.  249 


In  these  wretched  goat-skins  clad, 
Far  from  thy  delights  and  thee. 


CYCLOPS,    511-520. 


Shelley. 


LOVE  SONG. 

CHORUS. 

Owe,  with  eyes  the  fairest 
Cometh  from  his  dwelling, 

Some  one  loves  thee,  rarest, 
Bright  heyond  my  telling. 

In  thy  grace  thou  shinest 

Like  some  nymph  divinest, 

In  her  caverns  dewy  :  — 

All  delights  pursue  thee, 

Soon  pied  flowers,  sweet-hreathing, 

Shall  thy  head  be  wreathing. 

Shelley. 

FRAGMENTS   FROM  EURIPIDES. 

CHILDREN  IN   THE  HOUSE. 

Lady,  the  sun's  light  to  our  eyes  is  dear, 

And  fair  the  tranquil  reaches  of  the  sea. 

And  flowery  earth  in  May,  and  hounding  waters ; 

And  so  right  many  fair  things  I  might  praise ; 

Yet  nothing  is  so  radiant  and  so  fair 

As  for  souls  childless,  with  desire  sore-smitten. 

To  see  the  light  of  babes  about  the  house. 


250  EURIPIDES. 

RETRIBUTION. 

Think  you  that  sins  leap  up  to  heaven  aloft 

On    wings,    and    then    that    on    Jove's   red -leaved 

tablets 
Some  one  doth  write  them,  and  Jove  looks  at  them 
In  judging  mortals  ?     Not  the  whole  broad  heaven, 
If  Jove  should  write  our  sins,  would  be  enough, 
Nor  he  suffice  to  punish  them.     But  Justice 
Is  here,  is  somewhere  near  us  ;  do  but  look. 

HIGH  BIRTH. 

For  mere  high  birth  I  have  small  meed  of  praise  ; 
The  good  man  in  my  sight  is  nobly  born  ; 
While  he  who  is  not  righteous,  though  his  sire 
Than  Zeus  be  loftier,  seems  to  me  but  base. 

NOBLE   BLOOD. 

I  KNOW  not  how  to  think  of  noble  blood  : 
For  men  of  courage  and  of  virtuous  soul, 
Though  born  of  slaves,  are  far  above  vain  titles. 

THE  NOBLY   BORN. 

Lo,  in  all  places  how  the  nobly  born 

Show  their  good  breed  and  spirit  by  brave  bearing ! 


A   BRAVE  MAN'S  FATHERLAND. 
The  whole  wide  ether  is  the  eagle's  way : 
The  whole  earth  is  a  brave  man's  fatherland. 

J.  A.  Symonds, 


ARISTOPHANES,   448-385  b.  c. 

THE    BIRDS,  162-386. 

IN   BIRD-LAND. 

The  comedy  of  "  The  Birds  "  is  an  extravaganza.  Two 
Athenians,  Peisthetairus  (Persuasive)  and  Euelpides  (Hope- 
ful), propose  to  seek  a  new  home  in  the  kingdom  of  the  hirds. 
They  are  kindly  received  hy  the  king.  Hoopoe  (himself  form- 
erly a  man),  who  calls  together  his  subjects  to  hear  the  propo- 
sitions of  the  strangers.  In  the  ancient  theatre  the  chorus, 
twenty-four  in  number,  representing  the  birds,  formed  a 
fantastic  spectacle,  tricked  out  as  they  were  in  every  variety 
of  beak  and  plumage.  They  rush  upon  the  stage,  as  de- 
scribed in  the  text,  and  at  sight  of  their  ancient  enemy,  man, 
are  ready  to  hack  in  pieces  the  two  intruders,  until  paci- 
fied by  Hoopoe.  In  the  following  scenes  of  the  play  they 
finally  accept  the  propositions  of  the  Athenians  and  build  a 
city  in  the  air  —  Nephelococcygia  (Cloud-cuckoo-town). 

Pels.     Hah  !     What   a   power    is  here ;    what 
opportunities  ! 
If  I  could  only  advise  you  ;  I  see  it  all ! 
The  means  for  an  infinite  empire  and  command  ! 
Hoo.     And    what    would    you    have    us    do  ? 

What 's  your  advice  ? 
Pels.     Do  !  what  would  I  have  ye  do  ?     Why, 
first  of  all 
Don't  flutter  and  hurry  about  all  open-mouthed 
In  that  undignified  way.     With  us  for  instance. 
At  home,   we   should  cry  out,   "  What  creature  's 
that?" 


252  ARISTOPHANES. 

And  Teleas  would  be  the  first  to  answer  : 

"  A  mere  poor  creature,  a  weak  restless  animal, 

A  silly  bird,  that 's  neither  here  nor  there." 

Hoo.     Yes,  Teleas  might  say  so.     It  would  he 
like  him. 
But  tell  me,  what  would  you  have  us  do  ? 

Pels,     (emphatically).  Concentrate ; 

Bring  all  your  birds  together.     Build  a  city. 

Hoo.     The  Birds  !     How  could  we  build  a  city  ? 
Where  ? 

Pels.     Nonsense.     You  can't  be  serious.     What 
a  question  ! 
Look  down. 

Hoo.     I  do. 

Peis.  Look  up  now. 

Hoo.  So  I  do. 

Peis.     Now  turn  your  neck  round. 

Hoo.  I  should  sprain  it,  though. 

Peis.     Come,  what  d'  ye  see  ? 

Hoo.     The  clouds  and  sky  ;  —  that 's  all. 

Peis.     Well,  that  we  call  the  pole  and  the  atmos- 
phere ; 
And  would  it  not  serve  you  birds  for  a  metropole  ? 

Hoo.     Pole  ?     Is  it  called  a  pole  ? 

Pels.  Yes,  that 's  the  name. 

Philosophers  of  late  call  it  the  pole  ; 
Because  it  wheels  and  rolls  itself  about, 
As  it  were,  in  a  kind  of  a  roly-poly  way. 
Well,  there  then,  you  may  build  and  fortify, 
And  call  it  your  metropolis,  —  your  acropolis. 
From  that  position  you  '11  command  mankind, 
And  keep  them  in  utter  thorough  subjugation : 
Just  as  you  do  the  grasshoppers  and  locusts. 


THE  BIRDS.  253 

And  If  the  gods  offend  you,  you  '11  blockade  'em, 
And  starve  'em  to  a  surrender. 

Hoo.  In  what  way  ? 

Peis.     Why  thus.     Your  atmosphere  is  placed, 
you  see, 
In  a  middle  point,  just  betwixt  earth  and  heaven. 

A  case  of  the  same  kind  occurs  with  us. 
Our  people  in  Athens,  if  they  send  to  Delphi 
With  deputations,  offerings,  or  what  not, 
Are  forced  to  obtain  a  pass  from  the  Boeotians : 
Thus  when  mankind  on  earth  are  sacrificing. 
If  you  should  find  the  gods  grown  mutinous 
And  insubordinate,  you  could  intercept 
All  their  supplies  of  sacrificial  smoke. 

Hoo.     By  the  earth  and  all  its  springs !  springes 
and  nooses ! 
Odds,  nets,  and  snares  !  this  is  the  cleverest  notion  : 
And  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  venture, 
If  the  other  Birds  agree  to  the  proposal. 

Peis.     But  who  must  state  it  to  them  ? 

Hoo.  You  yourself, 

They  '11  understand  ye.     I  found  them  mere  bar- 
barians. 
But  living  here  a  length  of  time  amongst  them, 
I  have  taught  them  to  converse  and  speak  correctly. 

Peis.     How  will  you  summon  them  ? 

Hoo.  That 's  easy  enough  ; 

I  '11  just  step  into  the  thicket  here  hard  by, 
And  call  my  Nightingale.     She  '11  summon  them. 
And  when  they  hear  her  voice.  I  promise  you 
You  '11  see  them  all  come  running  here  pell-mell. 

Peis.     My  dearest,  best  of  Birds  !  don't  lose  a 
moment, 


254  ARTSTOPHANES. 

I  beg,  but  go  directly  into  the  thicket ; 

Nay,  don't  stand  here,  go  call  your  Nightingale. 

\_Exit  Hoopoe. 

Song  from  behind  the  Scene,  supposed  to  be  sung 
by  the  Hoopoe. 

Awake !    awake  ! 
Sleep  no  more,  my  gentle  mate  ! 
With  your  tiny  tawny  bill, 
Wake  the  tuneful  echo  shrill, 

On  vale  or  hill ; 
Or  in  her  airy  rocky  seat. 
Let  her  listen  and  repeat 
The  tender  ditty  that  ye  tell, 

The  sad  lament. 

The  dire  event. 
To  luckless  Itys  that  befell. 

Thence  the  strain 

Shall  rise  again, 

And  soar  amain. 
Up  to  the  lofty  palace  gate. 
Where  mighty  Apollo  sits  in  state 
In  Jove's  abode,  with  his  ivory  lyre. 
Hymning  aloud  to  the  heavenly  quire  ; 
While  all  the  gods  shall  join  with  thee 

In  a  celestial  symphony. 

[A  Solo  on  the  Flute  supposed  to  he  the 
Nightingale's  Call. 

Pels.     Oh,  Jupiter  I  the  dear  delicious  bird  ! 
With  what  a  lovely  tone  she  swells  and  falls, 
Sweetening  the  wilderness  with  delicate  air. 


& 


THE   BIRDS.  255 

Eu.    Hist ! 

Pels.  What  ? 

Eu.  Be  quiet,  can't  ye  ? 

PqIs^  What 's  the  matter  ? 

^«i.     The  Hoopoe  is  just  preparing  for  a  song. 

Hoo.  Hoop  !  hoop  ! 

Come  in  a  troop, 
Come  at  a  call, 
One  and  all, 
Birds  of  a  feather. 
All  together. 
Birds  of  an  humble  gentle  bill 
Smooth  and  shrill, 
Dieted  on  seeds  and  grain, 
Rioting  on  the  furrowed  plain. 
Pecking,  hopping. 
Picking,  popping. 
Among  the  barley  newly  sown. 
Birds  of  bolder  louder  tone, 
Lodging  in  the  shrubs  and  bushes, 
Mavises  and  Thrushes. 
On  the  summer  berries  browsing, 
On  the  garden  fruits  carousing, 
All  the  grubs  and  vermin  smouzing. 

You  that  in  an  humbler  station, 
With  an  active  occupation, 
Haunt  the  lowly  watery  mead, 
Warring  against  the  native  breed, 
The  "-nats  and  flios,  your  enemies ; 
In  the  level  marshy  plain 
Of  Marathon  pursued  and  slain. 


256  ARISTOPHANES. 

You  that  in  a  squadron  driving 

Fi'om  the  seas  are  seen  arriving, 

With  the  Cormorants  and  Mews 

Haste  to  land  and  hear  the  news ! 

All  the  feathered  airy  nation, 

Birds  of  every  size  and  station, 

Ai'e  convened  in  convocation. 
For  an  envoy  queer  and  shrewd 
Means  to  address  the  multitude, 

And  submit  to  their  decision 

A  surprising  proposition, 

For  the  welfare  of  the  state. 

Come  in  a  flurry, 

With  a  hurry,  scurry, 

Hurry  to  the  meeting  and  attend  to  the  debate. 

{The  two  Athenians  stand  aside,  as  the 
Chorus  of  Birds  enter. 

Eu.     How  they  thicken,  how  they  muster. 
How  they  clutter,  how  they  cluster ! 
Now  they  ramble  here  and  thither. 
Now  they  scramble  altogether. 
What  a  fidgeting  and  clattering  ! 
What  a  twittering  and  chattering  ! 
Don't  they  mean  to  threaten  us  ?     What  think  ye  ? 

Pels.  Yes,  methinks  they  do. 

Eu.     They  're  gaping  with  an  angry  look  against 
us  both. 

Pels.  It 's  very  true. 

Cho.     Where  is  He,  the  Magistrate  that  assem- 
bled us  to  deliberate  ? 

Hoo.     Friends  and  comrades,  here  am  I,  your 
old  associate  and  aUy. 


THE  BIRDS.  257 

Cho.     What  have    ye  to  communicate    for  the 

benefit  of  the  state  ? 
Hoo.     A  proposal    safe  and  useful,  practicable, 
profitable. 
Two  projectors  are  arrived  here,  politicians  shrewd 
and  able. 
Cho.     Whee  !  whaw  !  where  !  where  ! 
What  ?  what  ?  what  ?  what  ?  what  ? 

Moo.     I  repeat  it  —  human  envoys  are  arrived, 
a  steady  pair, 
To  disclose  without  reserve  a  most  stupendous  huge 
affair. 
Clio.     Chief,  of    all   that  ever  were,  the  worst, 
the  most  unhapjiy  oue  ! 
Speak,  explain  ! 

Hoo.  Don't  be  alarmed  ! 

Cho.  Alas,  alas  !  what  have  you  done  ? 

Hoo.     I  've   received  a   pair   of   strangers,  who 

desire  to  settle  here. 
Cho.     Have  you  risked  so  rash  an  act  ? 
Hoo.  I  've  done  it,  and  I  persevere. 

Cho.     But  where  are  they  ? 

Hoo.     Near  beside  you  ;  near  as  I  am  ;  very  near. 
Cho.  Out,  alas  !  out,  alas  ! 

We  are  betrayed,  cruelly  betrayed 
To  a  calamitous  end. 
Our  comrade  and  our  friend. 
Our  companion  in  the  fields  and  in  the  pastures 
Is  the  author  of  all  our  miseries  and  disasters, 
Our  ancient  sacred  laws  and  solemn  oath  ! 
Transgressing  both  ! 
Treasonably  delivering  us  as  a  prize 
To  our  horrible  immemorial  enemies. 


258  ARISTOPHANES. 

To  a  detestable  race 
Execrably  base  ! 
For  the  Bird  our  Chief,  hereafter  he  must  answer 

to  the  state  ; 
With  respect  to  these  intruders,  I  propose,  without 

debate, 
On  the  spot  to  tear  and  hack  them. 

Eu.  There  it  is,  our  death  and  ruin  ! 

Ah,  the  fault  was  all   your   own,  you   know  it ;    it 

was  all  your  doing  ; 
You  that  brought  me  here,  and  why  ? 

Pels.  Because  I  wanted  an  attendant. 

Eu.     Here  to  close  my  life  in  tears. 
Pels.  No,  that 's  a  foolish  fear,  depend  on  't. 

Eu.     Why  a  foolish  fear  ? 

Peis.     Consider ;  when   you  're   left  without  an 
eye, 
It 's  impossible  in  nature  ;  how  could  you  contrive 
to  cry  ? 
Cho.      Form  in  rank  ;  form  in  rank  ; 

Then  move  forward  and  outflank. 
Let  me  see  them  overpowered, 
Hacked,  demolished,  and  devoured, 
Neither  earth,  nor  sea,  nor  sky, 
Nor  woody  fastnesses  on  high. 
Shall  protect  them  if  they  fly. 
Where  's    the  Captain  ?    what  detains  him  ?   what 

prevents  us  to  proceed  ? 
On  the  right  there,  call  the  Captain !  let  him  form 
his  troop  and  lead. 
Eu.     There  it  is  ;  where  can  I  fly  ? 
Peis.  Sirrah,  be  quiet ;    wait  a  bit. 

Eu.     What,  to  be  devoured  amongst  them ! 


TEE  BIRDS.  259 

Pais.  Will  your  legs  or  will  your  wit 

Serve  to  escape  them  ? 
Ell.  I  can't  tell. 

Pels.  But  I  can  tell ;  do  as  you  're  bid  ; 

Fight  we  must.     You  see  the  pot  just  there  before 

ye  ;  take  the  lid 
And  present  it  for  a  shield  ;  the  spit  will  serve  you 

for  a  spear ; 
With  it  you  may  scare  them  off,  or  spike  them  if 
they  venture  near. 
Eu.     What  can  I  find  to  guard  my  eyes  ? 
Peis.  Why,  there  's  the  very  thing  you  wish, 

Two  vizard  helmets  ready  made,  the  cullender  and 
skimming  dish. 
Eu.     What  a  clever,  capital,  lucky  device ;  sud- 
den and  new ! 
Nicias,  with  all  his  tactics,  is  a  simpleton  to  you. 
Cho.     Steady,   Birds !    present   your  beaks !    in 
double  time,  charge  and  attack  ! 
Pounce  upon  them,  smash  the  pot  lid,  clapperclaw 
them,  tear  and  hack. 
IIoo.     Tell  me,  most  unworthy  creatures,  scandal 
of  the  feathered  race. 
Must   I    see  my  friends    and   kinsmen   massacred 
before  my  face  ? 
Cho.     What,  do   you    propose   to   spare  them? 
Where  will  your  forbearance  cease, 
Hesitating  to  destroy  destructive  creatures  such  as 
these  ? 
Hoo.     Enemies  they  might  have  been  ;  but  here 
they  come,  with  fair  design. 
With  proposals  of  advice,  for  your  advantage  and 
for  mine. 


260  ARISTOPHANES. 

Cho.     Enemies    time   out    of   mind !     they  that 

have  spilt  our  fathers'  blood, 
How  should    they  be   friends  of    ours,  or  give  us 

counsel  for  our  good  ? 
Hoo.     Friendship  is  a  jioor  adviser  ;  politicians 

deep  and  wise 
Many  times  are  forced  to  learn  a  lesson  from  their 

enemies ; 
Diligent  and  wary  conduct  is  the  method  soon  or 

late 
Which  an  adversary  teaches  ;    whilst  a  friend  or 

intimate 
Trains  us  on  to  sloth  and  ease  ;  to  ready  confidence  ; 

to  rest 
In  a  careless  acquiescence ;  to  believe  and  hope  the 

best. 
Look  on  earth  !  behold  the  nations,  all  in  emulation 

vying, 
Active  all,  with  busy  science  engineering,  fortify- 
ing; 
To  defend  their  hearths  and  homes,  with  patriotic 

industry, 
Fencing  every  city  round  with  massy  walls  of  ma- 
sonry ; 
Tactical  devices  old  they  modify  with  new  design  ; 
Arms    offensive    and  defensive  to  perfection   they 

refine ; 
Galleys  are  equipt  and  armed,  and  armies  trained 

to  discipline. 
Look  to  life,  in  every  part,  in  aU  they  practice,  all 

they  know. 
Every  nation  has  derived  its  best  instruction  from 

the  foe. 


THE  BIRDS.  26 1 

Cho.     "We  're  agreed  to  grant  a  hearing  ;  if  an 
enemy  can  teach 
Anything  that's  wise  or  useful,  let  him  prove  it  in 
his  speech. 
Pels,     {aside).     Let 's   retire    a   pace    or    two ; 

you  see  the  change  in  their  behavior. 
Hoo.     Simple  justice  I  require,  and  I  request  it 

as  a  favor. 
Cho.     Faith  and  equity  require  it,  and  the  nation 
hitherto 
Never   has    refused  to  take   direction    and  advice 
from  you. 

Frere. 

THE    BIRDS,    685-725. 

CHORUS  OF   BIRDS. 

Ye  Children  of  Man !  whose  life  is  a  span, 
Protracted  Avith  sorrow  from  day  to  day, 
Naked  and  featherless,  feeble  and  querulous, 
Sickly  calamitous  creatures  of  clay  ! 
Attend  to  the  words  of  the  Sovereign  Birds, 
(Immortal,  illustrious,  lords  of  the  air). 
Who  survey  from  on  high,  with  a  merciful  eye. 
Your  struggles  of  misery,  labor,  and  care. 
Whence  you  may  learn  and  clearly  discern 
Such  truths  as  attract  your  inquisitive  turn  ; 
Which  is  busied  of  late  with  a  mighty  debate, 
A  profound  speculation  about  the  creation, 
And  organical  life,  and  cliaotical  strife. 
With  various  notions  of  heavenly  motions, 
And  rivers  and  oceans,  and  valleys  and  mountains. 


262  ARISTOPHANES. 

And  sources  of  fountains,  and  meteors  on  high, 
And  stars  in  the  sky  .   •  .  We  propose  by  and  by, 
(If  you  11  listen  and  hear,)  to  make  it  all  clear. 
And  Frodicus  henceforth  shall  pass  for  a  dunce. 
When  his  doubts  are  explained  and  expounded  at 
once. 

Our  antiquity  proved,  it  remains  to  be  shown 
That  Love  is  our  author  and  master  alone  ; 
Like  him  we  can  ramble,  and  gambol  and  fly 
O'er  ocean  and  earth,  and  aloft  to  the  sky ; 
And  all  the  world  over,  we  're  friends  to  the  lover, 
And  when  other  means  fail,  we  are  found  to  prevail, 
When  a  Peacock  or  Pheasant  is  sent  as  a  present. 

All  lessons  of  primary  daily  concemi 
You  have  learnt  from  the  Birds,  and  continue  to 

learn. 
Your  best  benefactors  and  early  instructors  ; 
We  give  you  the  warning  of  seasons  returning. 

When  the  Cranes  are  arranged,  and  muster  afloat 
In  the  middle  air,  with  a  creaking  note, 
Steering  away  to  the  Libyan  sands, 
Then  careful  farmers  sow  then-  lands  ; 
The  crazy  vessel  is  hauled  ashore, 
The  sail,  the  ropes,  the  rudder  and  oar 
Are  all  unshipped  and  housed  in  store. 

The  shepherd  is  warned,  by  the  Kite  reappearing, 
To  muster  his  flock,  and  be  ready  for  shearing. 

You  <.\\x\i  your  old  cloak  at  the  Swallow's  behest, 
In  assurance  of  summer,  and  purchase  a  vest. 

For  Delphi,  for  Ammon,  Dodona,  in  fine 
For  every  oracular  temple  and  shrine, 


THE  FROGS.  2G3 

The  Birds  are  a  substitute  equal  and  fair, 

For  on  us  you  depend,  and  to  us  you  repair 

For  counsel  and  aid  when  a  marriage  is  made, 

A  purchase,  a  bargain,  a  venture  in  trade  : 

Unlucky  or  lucky,  whatever  has  struck  ye, 

An  ox  or  an  ass  that  may  happen  to  pass, 

A  voice  in  the  street,  or  a  slave  that  you  meet, 

A  name  or  a  word  by  chance  overheard. 

If  you  deem  it  an  omen,  you  call  it  a  Bird  ; 

And  if  birds  are  your  omens,  it  clearly  will  follow 

That  birds  are  a  proper  prophetic  Apollo. 

Frere. 

THE    FROGS,   180-276. 

BACCHUS  AND  THE  FROGS. 

[In  the  scene  here  given  Dionysus  (Bacchus)  attended  by 
his  slave  Xanthias  is  on  his  way  to  the  infernal  regions  ixpon 
a  special  mission.  The  god  is  required  by  Charon  to  take 
a  hand  at  the  oar,  and  is  nnich  annoyed  in  his  passage  over 
the  infernal  lake  by  the  discordant  croak  of  the  frogs,  who 
apparently  take  a  delight  in  worrying  him.] 

CHAKON.       BACCHUS.       XANTHIAS. 

Ch.    Hoy  !    Bear  a  hand,  there  —  Heave  ashore. 
B.  What 's  this  ? 

X.     The  lake  it  is  —  the  place  he  told  us  of. 
By  Jove  !    and  there  's  the  boat  —  and  here  's  old 

Charon. 
B.     Well,     Charon  !  —  Welcome,      Charon  !  — 

Welcome  kindly  ! 
Ch.     Wlio    wants     the     ferryman  ?       Anybody 

waiting 
To  remove  from  the  sorrows  of  life  ?    A  passage, 

anybody  ? 


264  ARISTOPHANES. 

To  Lethe's  wharf  ?  —  to  Cerberus's  Reach  ? 
To  Tartarus  ?  —  to  Tsenarus  ?  —  to  Perdition  ? 
B.     Yes,  I. 

Ch.  Get  in  then. 

B.     (Jiesitatinghj).  Tell  me,  where  are  you 

going  ? 
To  Perdition  really  ?  — 

Ch.  {not  sarcastically,  hut  civilly,  in  the  way 
of  Misiness). 

Yes,  to  oblige  you,  I  will 
With  all  my  heart  —  Step  in  there. 

B.  Have  a  care  ! 

Take  care,  good  Charon !  —  Charon,  have  a  care  ! 

[Bacchus  gets  into  the  boat. 
Come,  Xanthias,  come ! 

Ch.  I  take  no  slaves  aboard 

Except  they  've  volunteered  for  the  naval  victory. 
X.     I  could  not  —  I  was  suffering  with  sore  eyes. 
Ch.     You  must  trudge  away  then,  round  by  the 

end  of  the  lake  there. 
X.     And  whereabouts  shall  I  wait  ? 
Ch.  At  the  Stone  of  Repentance, 

By  the  Slough  of  Despond  beyond  the  Tribulations  ; 
You  understand  me  ? 

X.  Yes,  I  understand  you  ; 

A  lucky,  promising  direction,  truly. 

Ch.      (to  Bac.)     Sit  down  at  the  oar  —  Come 

quick,  if  there  's  more  coming  ! 

{To   Bac.    again)     Holloh  !     what 's    that   you  're 

doing  ? 

[Bacchus  is  seated  in  a  buffbonish  attitude  on  the  side 

of  the  boat  where  the  oar  was  fastened. 


THE  FROGS.  265 

B.  What  you  told  me- 

I  'm  sitting  at  the  oar. 

Ch.  Sit  there,  I  tell  you, 

You  Fatguts  ;  that 's  your  place. 

B.     {changes  his  place).     Well,  so  I  do. 

Ch.    Now  ply  your  hands  and  arms. 

B.     {makes   a   silly   motion  ivith   his   arms). 
Well,  so  I  do. 

Ch.   You  'd  best  leave  off  your  fooling.     Take 
to  the  oar. 
And  pull  away. 

B.  But  how  shall  I  contrive  ? 

I  *ve  never  served  on  boai-d  —  I  'm  only  a  lands- 
man ; 
I  'm  quite  unused  to  it  — 

Ch.  We  can  manage  it. 

As  soon  as  you  begin  you  shall  have  some  music 
That  will  teach  you  to  keep  time. 

B.  What  music  's  that  ? 

Ch.    A  chorus   o£   Frogs  —  uncommon   musical 
Frogs. 

B.     Well,  give  me  the  word  and  the  time. 

Ch.  Whooh  up,  up  ;  whooh  up,  up. 

CHOKUS    OF    FROGS. 

Br(?keke-k^sh,  ko-dsh.  ko-dsh, 

Shall  the  Choral  Quiristers  of  the  Marsh 

Be  censured  and  rejected  as  hoarse  and  harsh  ; 

And  their  Chromatic  essays 

Deprived  of  praise  ? 
No,  let  us  raise  afresh 
Our  obstreperous  Br^keke-k^sh  ; 


266  ARISTOPHANES. 

The  customary  croak  and  cry 
Of  tlie  creatures 
At  the  theatres, 
In  their  yearly  revelry. 
Br(^keke-k^sh,  kodsh,  koilsh. 
B.     {rowing  in  great  misery). 
How  I  'm  mauled, 
How  I  'm  galled  ; 
Worn  and  mangled  to  a  mash  — 
There  they  go  !     "  Kodsh,  kodsh  !  " 
Frogs.     Br^keke-k^sh,  ko^sh,  kod,sh. 
B.  Oh,  beshrew. 

All  your  crew ; 
You  don't  consider  how  I  smart. 
Frogs.     Now  for  a  sample  of  the  Art ! 

Br^keke-k^sh,  kodsh,  kodsh. 
B.  I  wish  you  hanged,  with  all  my  heart. 

—  Have  you  nothing  else  to  say  ? 
"  Brekeke-kesh,  kodsh  "  all  day  ! 
Frogs.     We  've  a  right. 
We  've  a  right ; 
And  we  croak  at  ye  for  spite. 
We  've  a  right, 
We  've  a  right ; 
Day  and  night. 
Day  and  night ; 
Night  and  day, 
Still  to  creak  and  croak  away. 
Phcebus  and  every  Grace 
Admire  and  approve  of  the  croaking  race ; 
And  the  egregious  guttural  notes 
That  are  gargled  and  warbled  in  their  lyrical 
throats. 


THE  FROGS.  267 

Cease  with  your  profane  entreaties 
All  in  vain  forever  striving  : 

Silence  is  against  our  natures. 
With  the  vernal  heat  reviving, 

Our  aquatic  crew  repair 
From  their  periodic  sleep, 
In  the  dark  and  chilly  deep, 
To  the  cheerful  upper  air  ; 
Then  we  frolic  here  and  there 
All  amidst  the  meadows  fair  ; 
Shady  plants  of  asphodel, 
Are  the  lodges  where  we  dwell ; 
Chaunting  in  the  leafy  bowers 
All  the  livelong  summer  hours, 
Till  the  sudden  gusty  showers 
Send  us  headlong,  helter-skelter, 
To  the  pool  to  seek  for  shelter  : 
Meagre,  eager,  leaping,  lunging. 
From  the  sedgy  wharfage  plunging 
To  the  tranquil  depth  below. 
There  we  muster  all  a-row  ; 
"Where,  secure  from  toil  and  trouble, 
With  a  tuneful  hubble-bubble, 
Our  symphonious  accents  flow. 
Br^keke-k^sh,  kodsh,  kodsh. 

B.  I  forbid  you  to  proceed. 

Frogs.      That  would  be  severe  indeed  ; 
Arbitrary,  bold,  and  rash  — 
Br^keke-k^sh,  kodsh,  kodsh. 

B.  I  command  you  to  desist  — 

—  Oh,  my  back,  there  !  oh,  my  wrist ! 
What  a  twist ! 
What  a  sprain  ! 


268  ARISTOPHANES. 

Frogs.  Once  again  — 

We  renew  the  tuneful  strain. 

Br^keke-kesh,  kodsh,  kodsh. 
B.  I  disdain  —  (Hang  the  pain  !) 

All  your  nonsense,  noise,  and  trash. 

Oh,  my  blister  !     Oh,  my  sprain  ! 
Frogs.      Br^keke-k^sh,  kodsh,  kodsh. 

Friends  and  Frogs,  we  must  display 

All  our  powers  of  voice  to-day  ; 

Suffer  not  this  stranger  here, 

With  fastidious  foreign  ear, 

To  confound  us  and  abash. 

Br^keke-k^sh,  kodsh,  kodsh. 
B.  Well,  my  spirit  is  not  broke. 

If  it 's  only  for  the  joke, 

I  '11  outdo  you  with  a  croak. 

Here  it  goes  —  {very  loud)    "  Kodsh, 
kodsh." 
Frogs.      Now  for  a  glorious  croaking  crash, 

{still  louder) 
Br^keke-kesh,  kodsh,  kodsh." 
B.     {splashing  with  his  oar). 

I  '11  disperse  you  with  a  splash. 
Frogs.      Br($keke-kesh,  kod,sh,  kod^sh. 
B.  I  '11  subdue 

Your  rebellious,  noisy  crew  — 
—  Have  amongst  you  there,  slap-dash. 

[Strikes  at  them. 

Frogs.      Brekeke-k^sh,  kodsh,  kodsh. 
We  defy  your  oar  and  you. 


THE   FROGS.  2G9 

Ch.       Hold  !    We  're   ashore   just  —  shift  your 

oar.     Get  out. 
-  Now  pay  for  your  fare. 

B.  There  —  there  it  is,  the  —  twopence. 

Frere. 

THE  FROGS,   440-460. 
CHORUS  OF  THE  "INITIATED." 

SEjnCHORUS. 

Now  we  go  to  dance  and  sing 

In  the  consecrated  shades  ; 
Round  the  secret  holy  ring. 

With  the  matrons  and  the  maids. 
Thither  I  must  haste  to  bring 
The  mysterious  early  light ; 
Which  must  witness  every  rite 
Of  the  joyous,  hajiijy  night. 

SEMICHORUS. 

Let  us  hasten  —  let  us  fly  — 

Where  the  lovely  meadows  lie  ; 

Where  the  living  waters  flow  ; 

Where  the  roses  bloom  and  blow. 

Heirs  of  immortality. 

Segregated,  safe  and  pure. 

Easy,  sorrowless,  secure  ; 

Since  our  earthly  course  is  run, 

We  behold  a  brighter  sun. 

Holy  lives  —  a  holy  vow  — 

Such  rewards  await  them  now. 

Frere, 


270  ARISTOPHANES. 


THE  CLOUDS,   275-313. 

SONG  OF  THE  CLOUDS. 

Cloud-maidens  that  float  on  forever, 

Dew-sprinkled,  fleet  bodies,  and  fair, 
Let  us  rise  from  our  Sire's  loud  river, 
Great  Ocean,  and  soar  through  the  air 
To  the  peaks  of  the  pine-covered  mountains  where 
the  pines  hang  as  tresses  of  hair. 
Let  us  seek  the  watch  towers  undaunted, 

Where  the  well-watered  cornfields  abound, 
And  through  murmurs  of  rivers  nymph-haunted, 
The  songs  of  the  sea-waves  resound  ; 
And  the  sun  in  the  sky  never  wearies  of  spreading 
his  radiance  around. 

Let  us  cast  off  the  haze 

Of  the  mists  from  our  band, 

Till  with  far-seeing  gaze 
We  may  look  on  the  land. 


Cloud-maidens  that  bring  the  rain  shower, 
To  the  Pallas-loved  land  let  us  wing. 

To  the  land  of  stout  heroes  and  Power, 
Where  Kekrops  was  hero  and  king, 

Where  honor  and  silence  is  given 

To  the  mysteries  that  none  may  declare. 

Where  are  gifts  to  the  high  gods  in  heaven 

When  the  house  of  the  gods  is  laid  bare, 


THE   CLOUDS.  271 

Where  are  lofty  roofed  temples,  and  statues  well 
carven  and  fair  ; 

Where  are  feasts  to  the  happy  immortals 
When  the  sacred  procession  draws  near, 

Where  garlands  make  bright  the  bright  portals 
At  aU  seasons  and  months  in  the  year  ; 

And  when  spring  days  are  here, 
Then*we  tread  to  the  wine-god  a  measure, 

In  Bacchanal  dance  and  in  pleasure, 
'Mid  the  contests  of  sweet  singing  choirs, 

And  the  crash  of  loud  lyres. 

Oscar  Wilde. 


THEOCRITUS,  270  b.  c. 

IDYL    I.,   29-63, 

A  CARVEN  CUP. 

All  round  its  rim,  on  the  top,  there  creeps  a  string 

of  ground  ivy, 
Twisted  and  tangled  with  woodbine,  while  here  and 

there,  in  the  circle, 
Tendrils  curl  and  clasp  —  with  bunches  of  berries 

among  them. 
Outside    a   damsel   is    carved  —  so   fair    the   gods 

might  have  wrought  her  ! 
Neat  and  trim,  with  her  mantle  and  net ;    and  — 

this  hand  and  that  hand  — 
Two  youths,  both  long-haired,  both  comely,  contend 

for  her  favors 
Angrily  —  never  a   jot   cares  my  pretty  jade  for 

their  anger  ! 
Sometimes  she  flings  a  smile  to  one,  and  frowns  to 

his  feUow, 
Sometimes  she  softens  to  t'  other  —  and  there  they 

stand  in  the  beechwood. 
Laughed  at,  but  mad  with  love  —  half-teased,  half- 
pleased  at  the  wanton. 
Next  a  fisherman  comes,  cut  out  on  a  rock  ;  and  its 

ledges 


A   CARVEN   CUP.  273 

Jut  up  rough  and  stark  —  the  old  boy,  done  to  a 

marvel, 
Staggers  and  sweats  at  his  work  —  just  like  a  fish- 
erman hauling  ; 
Looking  upon  it  you  'd  swear  the  work  was  alive 

and  no  picture  : 
So  do  the  veins  knot  up  and  swell  in  his  neck  and 

his  shoulders, 
For,  though  he  's  wrinkled  and  gray,  there  's  stuff 

left  yet  in  the  ancient. 
Next  to  this  old  sea-dog  you  see  a  vine,  with  its 

branches 
Heavy  with  globing  grapes  —  a  little  lad  sits  by  a 

thicket 
Guarding  the  grapes,  but  close  at  hand  two  foxes 

come  creeping, 
One  in  the  vineyard  munches  the  clusters  —  one  's 

after  the  wallet ; 
Gods  !  you  can  see  his  scheme  —  he  '11  keep  his  eye 

on  the  youngster. 
Till  he  finds  a  chance,  and  leaves  him  dinnerless. 

Blind  one  ! 
Why  do  you  sit  there,  weaving  with  grasses  a  cage 

for  your  crickets, 
Plaiting    the    grasses,  and  wholly  forgetting   your 

wallet  and  dinner. 
Wholly  forgetting    your  grapes  —  wrapped    uj?  in 

those  grasshoj)per  engines  ? 
All  the  work  in  this  cup  's  filled  in  with  leaves  of 

acanthus ; 
'T  is  an  yEolic  thing  —  and  sooth,  of  a  wonderful 

fancy  ; 


274  THEOCRITUS. 

Sirs !  it  cost  me  to  buy  of  the  Calydon  sailor,  a  big 

cheese 
Made  of  snow-white  curds,  and  a  she-goat  into  the 

bargain  ; 
Yet  it  has  touched  no  Hp,  but  Hes  this  while  in  my 

cottage. 
See  now  !    I  mean  it  for    you  !   't  is  yours,  if  you 

sing  us  that  ditty 
Half  so  well  as  you  sang  it  before  to  the  Himera 

shepherds. 
No  thanks !  do  but  sing  I  there 's  no  more  sunshine 

nor  singing 
Under   the   grass  —  in  the  realm  of  the  dead  — 

where  all  is  forgotten  ! 

Edwin  Arnold. 


IDYL    XI.,    7-64. 

THE  CYCLOPS  IN  LOVE. 
And  so  an  easier  life  our  Cyclops  drew, 

The  ancient  Polyphemus,  who  in  youth, 
Loved  Galatea,  while  the  manhood  grew 

Adown  his  cheeks  and  darkened  round  his  mouth. 
No  jot  he  cared  for  apples,  olives,  roses  ; 

Love    made   him    mad :     the    whole    world    was 
neglected  ; 
The  very  sheep  went  backward  to  their  closes 

From  out  the  fair  green  pastures,  self-directed. 

And  singing  Galatea,  thus,  he  wore 

The  sunrise  down  along  the  weedy  shore, 
And  pined  alone,  and  felt  the  cruel  wound 

Beneath  his  heart,  whicli  Cyjiris'  arrow  bore. 


THE   CYCLOPS  IN  LOVE.  275 

With  a  deej}  pang ;  but  so  the  cure  was  found  ; 
And  sitting  on  a  lofty  rock  he  cast 
His  eyes  ujion  the  sea,  and  sang  at  last ; 
"  O  whitest  Galatea,  can  it  be 

That  thou  shouldst  spurn  me  off  who  love  thee 
so  ? 
More  white  than  curds,  my  girl,  thou  art  to  see, 
More  meek  than  lambs,  more  full  of  leaping  glee 

Than  kids,  and  brighter  than  the  early  glow 
On  grapes  that  swell  to  ripen,  sour  like  thee  ! 
Thou  comest  to  me  with  the  fragrant  sleep, 

And  with  the    fragrant    sleep   thou   goest  from 
me ; 
Thou  fliest  —  fliest,  as  a  frightened  sheep 

Flies  the  gray  wolf  !  yet  Love  did  overcome  me, 
So  long  ;  —  I  loved  thee,  maiden,  first  of  all 

When  down  the  hills    (my  mother    fast    beside 
thee) 
I  saw  thee  stray  to  pluck  the  summer-fall 

Of    hyacinth    bells,    and   went   myself    to   guide 
thee : 
And  since  my  eyes  have  seen  thee,  they  can  leave 
thee 
No  more,  from  that  day's  light !     But  thou  —  by 
Zeus, 
Thou  wilt  not  care  for  that  to  let  it  grieve  thee  ! 

I  know  thee,  fair  one,  why  thou  springest  loose 

From  my  arm  round  thee.     Why  ?     I    tell    thee. 

Dear  ! 

One  shaggy  eyebrow  draws  its  smudging  road 

Straight    through    my    ample    front,    from    ear    to 

ear  ; 


276  THEOCRITUS. 

One  eye  rolls  underneath  ;  and  yawning,  broad, 
Flat  nostrils  feel  the  bulging  lips  too  near. 
Yet  —  ho,  ho  !  —  I,  —  whatever  I  appear. 

Do  feed  a  thousand  oxen  !     When  I  have  done, 
I  milk  the  cows,  and  drink  the  milk  that 's  best ! 

I  lack  no  cheese,  while  summer  keeps  the  sun ; 
And  after,  in  the  cold,  it 's  ready  pressed  ! 

And  then  I  know  to  sing,  as  there  is  none 
Of  all  the  Cyclops  can,  —  a  song  of  thee. 
Sweet  apple  of  my  soul,  on  love's  fair  tree. 
And  of  myself  who  love  thee  —  till  the  West 
Forgets  the  light,  and  all  but  I  have  rest. 
I  feed  for  thee,  besides,  eleven  fair  does, 

And    all    in    fawn ;     and    four   tame    whelps    of 
bears. 
Come  to  me.  Sweet !   thou  shalt  have  all  of  those 

In  change  for  love  !     I  will  not  halve  the  shares. 
Leave  the  blue  sea,  vrith  pure  white  arms  extended 

To  the  dry  shore ;  and  in  my  cave's  recess, 
Thou  shalt  be  gladder  for  the  moonlight  ended ; 

For  here  be  laurels,  spiral  cypresses, 
Dark  ivy,  and  a  vine  whose  leaves  enfold 
Most  luscious  grapes  ;  and  here  is  water  cold. 

The    wooded    ^tna   pours    down    through    the 
trees 
From  the  white  snows,  —  which  gods  were  scarce 
too  bold 
To  drink  in  turn  with  nectar.     Who  with  these 
Would  choose  the  salt  wave   of   the  lukewarm 
seas  ? 


THE  CYCLOPS  IN  LOVE.  277 

Nay,  look  on  me !     If  I  am  hairy  and  rough, 

I  have  an  oak's  heart  in  me  ;  there  's  a  fire 
In  these  gray  ashes  which  burns  hot  enough ; 

And  when  I  burn  for  thee,  I  grudge  the  pyre 
No  fuel  —  not  my  soul,  nor  this  one  eye,  — 
Most  precious  thing  I  have,  because  thereby 
I  see  thee.  Fairest !     Out,  alas  !     I  wish 
My  mother  had  borne  me  finned  like  a  fish. 
That    I    might    plunge   down    in    the    ocean    near 
thee, 

And  kiss  thy  glittering  hand  between  the  weeds, 
If  still  thy  face  were  turned  ;  and    I   would  bear 
thee 

Each  lily  white,  and  poppy  fair  that  bleeds 
Its  red  heart  down  its  leaves  !  one  gift  for  hours 

Of  summer ;  —  one,  for  winter  ;  since  to   cheer 
thee, 
I  could  not  bring  at  once  all  kinds  of  flowers. 
Even  now,  girl,  now,  I  fain  would  learn  to  swim, 

If  stranger  in  a  ship  sailed  nigh,  I  wis. 

That  I  may  know  how  sweet  a  thing  it  is 
To  live  down  with  you  in  the  Deep  and  Dim ! 
Come  up,  O  Galatea,  from  the  ocean. 

And  having  come,  forget  again  to  go ! 
As  I,  who  sing  out  here  my  heart's  emotion, 

Could  sit  forever.     Come  up  from  below  I 

Mrs.  Browning. 


278  THEOCRITUS. 


IDYL    XV. 

THE  SYKACUSxlN  GOSSIPS  ;i  OR,  THE  FEAST  OF 

ADONIS. 

GORGO,  )  Tj^^   Q^^^ 

Pkaxinoe,    ) 

Ednoe,  servant  of  Praxinoe. 

Phkygia,  her  housemaid. 

Little  Boy,  her  son.     Old  Woman.     Two  Men. 

Scene  —  Alexandria  in  Egypt. 

Gorgo     {at     her    frieruVs     door).        Praxinoe 
within  ? 

Eunoe.  Why,  Gorgo,  dear. 

How  late  you  are  !     Yes,  she  's  within. 

Prax.   {ajjpearing) .  What,  no  ! 

And  so  you  're  come  at  last !     A  seat  here,  Eunoe  ; 
And  set  a  cushion. 

Eunoe.  There  is  one. 

Prax.  Sit  down. 

Gorgo.     Oh,  what  a  thing 's  a  spirit !     Do  you 
know, 
I  've  scarcely  got  alive  to  you,  Praxinoe  ? 
There  's  such  a  crowd  —  such  heaps  of  carriages, 
And  horses,  and  fine  soldiers,  all  full  dressed : 
And  then  you  live  such  an  immense  way  off  ! 

Prax.     Why,  't  was  his  shabby  doing.   He  would 
take 

^  "  This  famous  idyl  describes  the  visit  paid  by  two  Syr- 
acusan  women  residing  in  Alexandria  to  the  festival  of 
the  Resurrection  of  Adonis.  Nothing  can  be  more  g'ay  and 
natural  than  the  chatter  of  the  women,  which  has  changed 
no  more  in  two  thousand  years  than  the  song  of  birds." — 
Andrew  Lang. 


THE  SYRACUSAN  GOSSIPS.  279 

This  hole  that  he  calls  house,  at  the  world's  end. 
'T  was  all  to  spite  me,  and  to  part  us  two. 

Gorgo    {^speaking    lower).        Don't    talk     so    of 
your  husband,  there  's  a  dear, 
Before  the  little  one.     See  how  he  looks  at  you. 

Prax.     {to  the  little  boy).     There,  don't  look 
grave,  child  ;  cheer  uj),  Zojjy,  sweet ; 
It  is  n't  your  papa  we  're  talking  of. 

Gorgo   (aside).     He  thinks  it  is,  though. 

Prax.  Ob,  no  —  nice  papa  ! 

(To  Gorgo)     Well,  this  strange  body  once  (let  us 

say  once, 
And  then  he  won't  know  who  we  're  telling  of), 
Going  to  buy  some  washes  and  saltpetre. 
Comes  bringing  salt  !  the  great  big  simpleton  ! 

Gorgo.     And  there  's    my  precious   ninny,   Dio- 
clede  : 
He  gave  for  five  old  ragged  fleeces,  yesterday. 
Ten  drachmas  !  for  mere  dirt !  trash  upon  trash  ! 
But  come  ;  put  on  your  things  ;  button  away. 
Or  we  shall  miss  the  show.     It 's  the  king's  own ; 
And  I  am  told  the  queen  has  made  of  it 
A  wonderful  fine  thing. 

Prax.  Ay,  luck  has  luck. 

Well,  toll  us  all  about  it ;  for  we  hear 
Nothing  in  this  vile  place. 

Gorgo.  We  have  n't  time. 

Workers  can't  throw  away  their  holidays. 

Prax.     Some  water,  Eunoe  ;  and  then,  my  fine 
one, 
To  take  your  rest  again.     Puss  loves  good  lying. 
Come  ;    move,   girl,   move  ;     some    water  —  water 
first. 


280  THEOCRITUS. 

Look  how  she  brings  it !    Now,  then  ;  —  hokl,  hold, 

careless ; 
Not  quite  so  fast ;  you  're  wetting  all  my  gown. 
There ;  that  '11    do.     Now,    please    the    gods,  I  'm 

washed. 
The  key  of  the  great  chest  —  where  's  that  ?     Go 

fetch  it. 

l^Exit  EuNOE. 

Gorgo.     Praxinoe,  that  gown  with  the  full  skirts 
Becomes  you  mightily.     What  did  it  cost  you  ? 
Prax.     Oh,  don't  remind  me  of  it.     More  than 
one 
Or  two  good  niinas,  besides  time  and  trouble. 
Gorgo,     All  which  you  had  forgotten. 
Prax.  Ah,  ha !     True  ; 

That 's  good.     You  're  quite  right. 
{Reenter  EuKOii.) 

Come  ;  my  cloak  ;  my  cloak  ; 
And  parasol.     There  —  help  it  on  now,  properly. 
(To  the  little  boy)    Child,    child,    you  cannot  go. 

The  horse  will  bite  it ; 
The  Horrid  Woman  's  coming.     Well,  well,  simple- 
ton. 
Cry,  if  you  will ;  but  you  must  not  get  lamed. 
Come,  Gorgo.     Phrygia,  take  the  child,  and  play 

with  him  ; 
And  call  the  dog  indoors,  and  lock  the  gate. 

[They  go  out. 
Powers,  what  a  crowd  !   how  shall  we  get  along  ? 
Why,  they  're  like  ants  !   countless  !  innumerable  ! 
Well,    Ptolemy,    you  've   done    fine    things,    that 's 
certain, 


THE  SYRACUSAN   GOSSIPS.  281 

Since  the  gods  took  your  father.     No  one  nowa- 
days 
Does  harm  to  travelers  as  they  used  to  do, 
After  the  Egyptian  fashion,  lying  in  wait,  — 
Masters  of  nothing  but  detestable  tricks  ; 
And  all  alike,  —  a  set  of  cheats  and  brawlers. 
Gorgo,  sweet  friend,  what  will  become  of  us  ? 
Here  are  the  king's  horse-guards !      Pray,  my  good 

man. 
Don't  tread  upon  us  so.     See  the  bay  horse  ! 
Look  how  it  rears  !     It 's  like  a  great  mad  dog. 
How  you  stand,  Eunoe !     It  will  throw  him,  cer- 
tainly I 
How  lucky  that  I  left  the  child  at  home ! 

Gorgo.     Courage,  Praxinoe :    they  have    passed 
us  now ; 
They  've  gone  into  the  court-yard. 

Prax.  Good  !  I  breathe  again. 

I  never  could  abide  in  all  my  life 
A  horse  and  a  cold  snake. 

Gorgo    {addressing     an    old    W07n/^n).      From 

court,  mother  ? 
Old  Woman.  Yes,  child. 

Gorgo.  Pi"'iy)  is  it  easy  to  get  in  ? 

Old  Woman.    The  Greeks  got  into  Troy-    Every- 
thing 's  done 

By  trying. 

[Exit  Old  Woman. 

Gorgo.     Bless  us  !     How  she  bugtl«s  off  ! 

Why,  the  old  woman  's  quite  oraculav- 

But  women  nnistknow  everything;  even  what  Juno 

Wore  on  her  wedding-day.      See  now,  P-axinoe,- 

How  the  gate  's  crowded. 


282  THEOCRITUS. 

Prax.  Frightfully  indeed. 

Give  me  your  hand,  dear  Gorgo ;  and  do  you 
Hold  fast  of  Eutychis's,  Eunoe. 
Don't  let  her  go ;  don't  stir  an  inch  ;  and  so 
We  '11  all  squeeze  in  together.      Stick  close  now. 
Oh  me  !  oh  me  !  my  veil 's  torn  right  in  two  ! 
Do  take  care,  my  good  man,  and  mind  my  cloak. 

Man.     'T  was  not  my  fault ;  but  I  '11  take  care. 

Prax.  What  heaps  ! 

They  drive  like  pigs  ! 

Man.  Courage,  old  girl !  all 's  safe. 

Prax.     Blessings  upon  you,  sir,  now  and  forever, 
For  taking  care  of  us.     A  good,  kind  soul. 
How  Eunoe  squeezes  us  !      Do,  child,  make  way 
For  your  own  self.     Tliere  ;  now,  we  've  all  got  in, 
As  the  man  said  when  he  was  put  in  prison. 

Gorgo.     Praxinoe,  do  look  there  !     What  lovely 
tapestry ! 
How  fine  and  showy !     One  would  think  the  gods 
did  it. 

Prax.     Holy  Minerva  !  how  those  artists  work  ! 
How  they  do  paint  their  pictures  to  the  life  ! 
The  figures  stand  so  like,  and  move  so  like  ! 
They  're  quite  alive,  not  worked.      Well,  certainly, 
Man  's  a  wise  creature.      See  now  —  only  look  — 
See  —  lying  on  the  silver  couch,  all  budding. 
With  the  young  down  about  his  face  !    Adonis ! 
Charming  Adonis  —  charming  even  in  Acheron  ! 

Second  Man.       Do    hold    your    tongues   there  ; 
chatter,  chatter,  chatter. 
The  turtles  stun  one  with  their  yawning  gabble. 

Gorgo.     Hey  -  day  !      Whence   comes   the  man  ? 
What  is  't  to  you 


T  .1  ^ 

r^i;  SYR  AC  us  AN  GOSSIPS.  ^06 

If  we  do  chatter  ?     Speak  where  you  've  a  right. 
You  're  not  the  master  here.     And  as  for  that, 
Our  people  are  from  Corinth,  like  Bellerophon. 
Our  tongue's  Peloponnesiac ;  and  we  hope 
It 's  lawful  for  the  Dorians  to  speak  Doric  ! 

Frax.     We've  but  one  master,  by  the  Honey- 
sweet  !  ^ 
And  don't  fear  you,  nor  all  your  empty  blows. 

Gorgo.     Hush,     hush,     Praxinoe !     there's    the 
Grecian  girl, 
A  most  amazing  creature,  going  to  sing 
About  Adonis  ;  she  that  sings  so  well 
The  song  of  Sperchis  :  she  '11  sing  something  fine, 
I  warrant.     See  how  sweetly  she  prepares ! 

The  Song. 

O  Lady,  who  dost  take  delight 
In  Golgos  and  the  Erycian  height, 
And  in  the  Idalian  dell, 
Venus,  ever  amiable  ; 
Lo,  the  long-expected  Hours, 
Slowest  of  the  blessed  powers. 
Yet  who  bring  us  something  ever, 
Ceasing  their  soft  dancing  never. 
Bring  thee  back  thy  beauteous  one 
From  perennial  Acheron. 
Thou,  they  say,  from  earth  hast  given 
Berenice  place  in  heaven, 
Dropping  to  her  woman's  heart 
Ambrosia  ;  and  for  this  kind  part, 
Berenice's  daughter  —  she 
That 's  Helen-like  —  Arsinoti, 
1  An  epithet  applied  by  the  Sicilians  to  Proserpine. 


284  ■  THEOCRITUS. 

O  tlion  many-named  and  shrined, 

Is  to  thy  Adonis  kind. 

He  lias  all  the  fruits  that  now 

Hang  upon  the  timely  hough : 

He  has  green  young  garden-plots, 

Basketed  in  silver  pots  ; 

Syrian  scents  in  alabaster. 

And  whate'er  a  curious  taster 

Could  desire,  that  women  make 

With  oil  or  honey,  of  meal  cake  ; 

And  all  shapes  of  beast  or  bird, 

In  the  woods  by  huntsman  stirred ; 

And  a  bower  to  shade  his  state 

Heaped  with  dill,  an  amber  weight ; 

And  about  him  Cupids  flying, 

Like  young  nightingales,  that  —  trying 

Their  new  wings  —  go  half  afraid, 

Here  and  there,  within  the  shade. 

See  the  gold  !     The  ebony  see ! 

And  the  eagles  in  ivory. 

Bearing  the  young  Trojan  up 

To  be  filler  of  Jove's  cup  ; 

And  the  tapestry's  purple  heap, 

Softer  than  the  feel  of  sleep  ; 

Artists,  contradict  who  can, 

Samian  or  Milesian, 

But  another  couch  there  is 

For  Adonis,  close  to  his  ; 

Venus  has  it,  and  with  joy 

Clasps  again  her  blooming  boy 

With  a  kiss  that  feels  no  fret. 

For  his  lips  are  downy  yet. 

Happy  with  her  love  be  she  ; 


THE  SYRACUSAN  GOSSIPS.  285 

But  to-morrow  morn  will  we 

With  our  locks  and  garments  flowing, 

And  our  bosoms  gently  showing, 

Come  and  take  him  in  a  throng, 

To  the  sea-shore  with  this  song  :  — 

Go,  beloved  Adonis,  go 

Year  by  year  thus  to  and  fro  ; 

Only  privileged  demigod  ; 

There  Avas  no  such  open  road 

For  Atrides  ;  nor  the  gTeat 

Ajax,  chief  infuriate  ; 

Nor  for  Hector,  noblest  once 

Of  his  mother's  twenty  sons  ; 

Nor  Patroclus,  nor  the  boy 

That  retui-ned  from  taken  Troy ; 

Nor  those  older  buried  bones, 

Lapiths  and  Deucalions  ; 

Nor  Pelopians,  and  their  boldest ; 

Nor  Pelasgians,  Greece's  oldest. 

Bless  us  then,  Adonis  dear, 

And  bring  us  joy  another  year  ; 

Dearly  hast  thou  come  again. 

And  dearly  shalt  be  welcomed  then. 

Gorgo.     Well,    if   that 's  not  a  clever  creature, 
trust  me ! 
Lord  !  what  a  quantity  of  things  she  knows ! 
And  what  a  charming   voice !     'T  is  time   to   go 

though. 
For  there  's  my  husband  has  n't  had  his  dinner. 
And  you  'd  best  come  across  him  when  he  wants  it ! 
Good-by,  Adonis,  darling.     Come  again. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


28G  THEOCRITUS. 


IDYL    XXVIII. 

THE   DISTAFF.i 

Distaff,  thou  greatest  gift  on  man  bestowed 
By  fair  Minerva  as  the  chiefest  good, 
Whom  wise  and  thrifty  women  still  retain, 
And  raise  their  husband's  fortune  by  their  pain, 
Retire  with  me  to  Neleus'  beauteous  town. 
Where  stately  shrines  grace  Venus  and  her  son  ; 
For  thither,  distaff,  I  am  now  designed. 
And  beg  of  mighty  Jove  a  prosperous  wind, 
To  be  enjoyed  by,  and  enjoy  my  friend, 
Nicias,  in  whom  the  sweet-tongued  Graces  rest; 
Learning  itself  is  seated  in  his  breast. 
There  thou,  of  polished  ivoiy  framed,  shalt  prove 
A  grateful  present  to  his  dearest  love ; 
From  thee  shall  all  her  husband's  vests  be  spun, 
From  thee  she  '11  often  draw  a  flowery  gown ; 
For  lambs  do  lose  their  fleeces  twice  a  year 
To  fill  her  baskets,  and  be  wrought  by  her. 
So  painful  is  Theugenis,  what  the  wise 
And  thrifty  mati'ons  value,  she  will  prize  : 
Nor  would  I  send  thee  to  an  idle  place. 
Thou  product  of  our  country  and  our  grace  ; 
For   thou    wert   made  where  walls    stout   Archias 
framed, 

^  "  This  little  piece  of  ^olic  verse  accompanied  the  pres- 
ent of  a  distaff,  which  Theocritus  brought  from  SjTacuse  to 
Theugenis,  the  wife  of  his  friend  Nicias,  the  physician  of 
^Miletus.  On  the  margin  of  a  translation  by  Longepierre, 
(the  famous  book  -  collector)  Louis  XIV.  wrote  that  this 
idyl  is  a  model  of  honorable  gallantry."  —  Andrew  Lang. 


THE  DISTAFF.  287 

The  pride  of  Sicily,  for  valor  famed  : 

Now  thou  shalt  visit  him  wliose  wondrous  skill 

Can  save  the  men  that  fate  designs  to  kill, 

Whose  herbs  can  soon  restore  a  life  when  lost. 

And  by  his  art  bring  back  the  flying  ghost, 

That  fair  Theugenis  may  by  all  be  known 

To  have  the  neatest  distaff  in  the  town  ; 

And  still  of  me,  her  friend,  kind  thoughts  infuse, 

Of  me,  the  chiefest  darling  of  the  muse. 

There  some  shall  see  thee,  and  these  words  repeat, 

The  present 's  small,  but  yet  the  kindness  great ; 

The  giver's  love  doth  little  gifts  commend, 

And  everything  is  valued  from  a  friend. 

Thomas  Creech. 


BION,  270  B.  c. 

IDYL  I. 

LAMENT   FOR    ADONIS.i 

I  MOURN  for  Adonis  —  Adonis  is  dead  ! 

Fair  Adonis  is  dead,  and  the  Loves  are  lament- 
ing. 
Sleep,  Cypris,  no  more  on  thy  purple-strewed  bed ! 
Arise,  wretch  stoled  in  black, — beat  thy  breast 
unrelenting, 
And  shriek  to  the  worlds,  "  Fair  Adonis  is  dead." 

I  mourn  for  Adonis  —  the  Loves  are  lamenting. 
He  lies  on  the  hiUs  in  his  beauty  and  death,  — 
The  white  tusk  of  a  boar  has  transfixed  his  white 
thigh  ; 
Cytherea  grows  mad  at  his  thin  gasping  breath. 
While    the    black  blood   drips  down    on  the    pale 
ivory, 
And  his  eyeballs  lie  quenched  with  the  weight 
of  his  brows. 
The  rose  fades  from  his  lips,  and  upon  them  just 
parted 

1  "  This  poem  was  probably  intended  to  be  sung  at  one  of 
the  spring  celebrations  of  the  festival  of  Adouis,  like  that  de- 
scribed by  Theocritus  in  his  15th  Idyl,  The  Syracusan  Gos- 
sips." —  Andrew  Lang.     See  in  this  volume,  page  278. 


LAMENT  FOR  ADONIS.  289 

» 

The  kiss  dies  the  goddess  consents  not  to  lose, 
Though  the  kiss  of  the  dead  cannot  make  her  glad- 
hearted  — 
He  knows  not  who  kisses  him  dead  in  the  dews. 

I  mourn  for  Adonis  —  the  Loves  are  lamenting. 

Deep,  deep  in  the  thigh,  is  Adonis's  wound  : 
But  a  deeper  is  Cypris's  bosom  presenting  — 

The  youth  lieth  dead  wliile  his  dogs  howl  around, 
And  the  nymphs  weep  aloud  from  the  mists  of  the 
hill. 
And  the  poor  Aphrodite,  with  tresses  unbound. 
All  disheveled,    unsandaled,   shrieks  mournful  and 
shrill 
Through  the    dusk  of   the  groves.     The    thorns 
tearing  her  feet. 
Gather  up  the  red  flower  of  her  blood  which  is  holy, 
Each  footstep  she  takes  ;  and  the  vallej's  repeat 
The  sharp  cry  she  utters,  and  draw  it  out  slowly. 
She  calls  on  her  spouse,  her  Assyrian  ;   on  him 
Her  own  youth ;  while  the  dark  blood  spreads  over 
his  body  — 
The  chest  taking  hue  from  the  gash  in  the  limb, 
And  the  bosom  once  ivory,  turning  to  ruddy. 

All,  ah,  Cytherea  I  the  Loves  are  lamenting  : 

She  lost  her  fair    spouse,  and  so    lost  her  fair 
smile  — 
When  he  lived  she  was  fair  by  the  whole  world's 
consenting. 
Whose  fairness  is  dead  with  him !  woe  worth  the 
while ! 


290 


BION. 


'^^All  the  mountains  above  and  the  oak-lauds  below 
Murmur,  "  Ah,  ah,  Adonis  !  "  The  streams  over- 
flow 
Aphi'odite's  deep  wail  —  river-fountains  in  pity 
Weep  soft  in  the  hills ;  and  the  flowers  as  they 
blow, 
Redden  outward  with  sorrow  ;  while  all  hear  her  go 
With  the  song  of  her  sadness  through  mountain 
and  city. 


Ah,  ah,  Cytherea !     Adonis  is  dead  ! 

Fair  Adonis  is  dead  —  Echo  answers,  Adonis  ! 
Who  weeps  not  for  Cypris,  when  bowing  her  head, 
She    stares    at   the  wound  where   it  gapes  and 
astonies  ?  — 
When,  ah,  ah  !  —  she  saw  how  the  blood  ran  away 
And  empurpled  the  thigh  ;  and,  with  wild  hands 
flung  out. 
Said  with  sobs,  "  Stay,  Adonis !  unhappy  one,  stay, 
Let  me  feel  thee  once  more  —  let  me  ring  thee 
about 
With  the  clasp  of  my  arms,  and  press  kiss  into  kiss ! 

Wait  a  little,  Adonis,  and  kiss  me  again. 
For  the  last  time,  beloved ;  and  but  so  much  of  this 
That  the  kiss  may  learn  life  from  the  warmth  of 
the  strain !  — 
Till  thy  breath  shall  exude  from  thy  soul  to  my 
mouth, 
To  my  heart ;  and  the  love-charm  I  once  more 
receiving. 
May  drink  thy  love  in  it,  and  keep  of  a  truth 
^  That  one  kiss  in  the  place  of  Adonis  the  living. 


LAMENT  FOR  ADONIS.  291 

Thou  fliest  me,  mournful  one,  fliest  me  far, 

My  Adonis,  and  seekest  the  Acheron  portal,  — 
To  Hell's  cruel  King  goest  down  with  a  scar. 

While  I  weep  and  Uve   on   like  a  wretched  im- 
mortal, 
And  follow  no  stej)  ;  —  O  Persephone,  take  him. 

My  husband  !  thou  'rt  better  and  brighter  than  I, 
So  all  beauty  flows  down  to  thee  !       I  cannot  make 
him 
Look  up  at  ray  grief ;    there 's  despair  in   my 
cry, 
Since  I  wail  for  Adonis,  who  died  to  me  —  died  to 
me  — 
Then  I  fear  thee  !     Art  thou  dead,  my  Adored  ? 
Passion  ends  like   a    dream    in    the    sleep    that 's 
denied  to  me. 
Cypris  is  widowed  :  the  Loves  seek  their  lord 
All  the  house  through  in  vain  !     Charm  of  cestus 
has  ceased 
With  thy  clasp !     0  too   bold  in  the  hunt,  past 
preventing ; 
Ay,  mad  :  thou  so  fair,  to  have  strife  with  a  beast !  " 
Thus  the  goddess  wailed  on  —  and  the  Loves  are 
lamentinsf. 


-»• 


All,  ah,  Cytherea  !     Adonis  is  dead. 

She  wept  tear  after  tear  with  the  blood  which  was 

shed  ; 
And  both  turned  into  flowers  for  the  earth's  gar- 
\  den-close  ; 

Her  tears  to  the  wind-flower,  his  blood  to  the  rose. 


/ 
/ 


292  BiON. 

I  mourn  for  Adonis  —  Adonis  is  dead, 

Weep    no    more    in    the    woods,    Cytherea,    thy 
lover ! 
So,  well ;  make  a  place  for  his  corse  in  thy  bed, 
With  the    purples  thou  sleepest   in,  under    and 
over. 
He 's  fair  though    a   corse  —  a   fair  corse,   like  a 
sleeper  — 
Lay  him  soft  in  the  silks  he  had  pleasure  to  fold, 
When,  heside  thee  at  night,  holy  dreams  deep  and 
deeper 
Enclosed  his  young  life  on  the  couch  made    of 
gold ! 
Love  him  still,  poor  Adonis  !  cast  on  him  together 
The  crowns  and    the    flowers  !      Since    he    died 
from  the  place, 
Why  let  all  die  with  him  —  let   the   blossoms    go 
wither  ; 
Rain  myrtles  and  olive-buds  down  on  his  face  : 
Kain    the    myrrh    down,    let   all   that   is  best  fall 
a-pining, 
For  the  myrrh  of  his  life  from  thy  keeping  is 
swept !  — 
Pale  he  lay,  thine  Adonis,  in  purples  reclining,  — 
The   Loves  raised   their  voices  around  him  and 
■wept. 
They  have  shorn  their  bright  curls  off   to   oast  on 

Adonis : 
One  treads  on  his  bow,  —  on  his  arrows  another,  — 
One  breaks  up  a  well-feathered  quiver  ;  and  one  is 
Bent  low  at  a  sandal,  untying  the  strings ; 
And    one    carries    the    vases    of    gold  from  the 
springs, 


THE   TEACHER   TAUGHT.  293 

While  one  washes  the  wound;    and    behind   them 
a  brother 
Fans  down  on  the  body  sweet  air  with  his  wings. 

Cji;herea  herself  now,  the  Loves  are  lamenting. 
Each  torch  at  the  door  Hymenseus  blew  out ; 
And  the    marriage -wreath    dropping    its  leaves  as 
repenting. 
No  more  ''  Hymen,  Hymen,"  is  chanted  about, 
But  the  ai  ai  instead  —  "  ai  alas  "  is  begun 

For  Adonis,  and  then  follows  "  ai  Hymenaeus !  " 
The  Graces  are  weeping  for  Cinyris'  son. 

Sobbing  low  each  to  each,  —  "  His  fair  eyes  can- 
not see  us !  " 
Their   wail    strikes   more   shrill   than   the   sadder 

Dione's ; 
The  fates  mourn  aloud  for  Adonis,  Adonis, 
Deep  chanting  !  he  hears  not  a  word  that  they  say  : 
He  would  hear,  but  Persephone  has  him  in  keeji- 

ing. 
Cease  moan,  Cytherea  —  leave  pomps  for  to-day, 
And  weep  new  when  a  new  year  refits  thee  for 

weeping. 

Mrs.  Browning. 

IDYL   V. 

THE  TEACHER  TAUGHT. 
I  DREAMT  I  saw  great  Venus  by  me  stand, 
Leading  a  nodding  infant  by  tlie  hand  ; 
And  that  she  said  to  me  familiarly, 
"  Take  Love,  and  teach  him  how  to  play  to  me." 


294  BiON. 

She  vanished  then.     And  I,  poor  fool,  must  turn 
To  teach  the  boy,  as  if  he  wished  to  learn. 
I  taught  him  all  the  pastoral  songs  I  knew 
And  used  to  sing ;  and  I  informed  him  too. 
How  Pan  found  out  the  pipe,  Pallas  the  flute, 
Phoebus  the  lyre,  and  Mercury  the  lute. 
But  not  a  jot  for  all  my  words  cared  he, 
But  lo  !  fell  singing  his  love-songs  to  me  ; 
And  told  me  of  the  loves  of  gods  and  men, 
And  of  his  mother's  doings ;  and  so  then 
I  forgot  all  I  taught  him  for  my  part. 
But  what  he  taught  me,  I  learnt  all  by  heart. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


MOSCHUS,  250  B.  c. 

IDYL  I. 

THE  STRAY   CUPID. 
As  Cupid  from  his  mother  Venus  strayed, 
Thus  crying  him  aloud  the  goddess  said, 
"  If  any  one  a  wandering  Cupid  see, 
The  little  fugitive  belongs  to  me  : 
And  if  he  tell  what  path  the  rogue  pursues. 
My  kisses  shall  reward  him  for  the  news. 
So  plain,  so  numerous  his  marks,  you  '11  own 
That  e'en  among  a  score  he  may  be  known. 

"  Bright  clustering  locks  his  lovely  forehead  grace. 

But  insolent  expression  marks  his  face  ; 

Though  httle  are  his  hands,  those  hands  can  fling 

Darts  e'en  to  Acheron,  the  infernal  king ; 

Though  bare  his  body,  yet  no  art  can  find 

A  clue  to  trace  the  motions  of  his  mind. 

If  you  secure  the  wanderer,  bring  him  bound, 

Nor   heed    him,   though   he    cry  and    stamp    the 

ground." 

E.  Pococke. 


296  M08CHUS. 

IDYL  III.,  106-111. 

DEATH   THE  END. 

Alas  !  the  meanest  herb  that  scents  the  gale, 
The  lowliest  flower  that  blossoms  m  the  vale, 
Even  where  it  dies,  at  spring's  sweet  call  renews 
To  second  life  its  odors  and  its  hues. 
But  we,  but  man,  the  great,  the  brave,  the  wise, 
When  once  in  death  he  seals  his  failing  eyes. 
In  the  mute  earth  imprisoned,  dark  and  deep, 
Sleeps  the  long,  endless,  unawakening  sleep. 

Milman, 

IDYL  V. 

SEA  AND  SHORE. 

When  gently  skims  the  breeze  the  waters  blue, 
High  swells  my  heart  and  kindles  at  the  view ; 
The  dull  unuioving  land  delights  no  more. 
The  halcyon  calm  allures  me  from  the  shore. 
But  when  the  hoary  deeps  resound,  the  waves 
Are  hung  with  foam,  and  all  the  ocean  raves, 
Home  to  the  land  I  look  and  whispering  trees, 
And  fly  the  smiling  treachery  of  the  seas. 
Then  the  firm  steadfast  shore,  the  shadowy  grove, 
Where  the  pine  sings  in  wildest  winds  I  love. 
Oh,  hard  the  fisher's  life  !  the  waves  to  reap ; 
His  house  his  bark  ;  his  labors  in  the  deep  ; 
The  wandering  fish  his  miserable  gain. 
Mine   the    sweet    sleep    beneath   the    broad-leaved 
plane. 


THE   CRAFT   OF  A  KEEPER   OF  SHEEP.    297 

And  mine  the  liquid  fountain  murmuring  near, 
That  soothes,  but  ne'er  disturbs  the  peasant's  ear. 

Milman. 


IDYL  VI. 

LOVE'S  LESSON. 
Pan  loved  his  neighbor  Echo  ;  Echo  loved 
A  gamesome  Satyr  ;  he.  by  her  unmoved, 
Loved  only  Lyde  ;  thus  through  Echo,  Pan, 
Lyde,  and  Satyr,  Love  his  circle  ran. 
Thus    all,   while   their   true     lovers'     hearts    they 

grieved, 
Were  scorned  in  turn,  and  what  they  gave  received. 
0  all  Love's  scorners,  learn  this  lesson  true ; 
Be  kind  to  Love,  that  he  be  kind  to  you. 

Ernest  Myers. 

IDYL  IX. 

THE  CRAFT  OF  A  KEEPER  OF  SHEEP. 
Would  that  my  father  had  taught  me  the  craft  of 

a  keeper  of  sheep, 
For  so  in  the   shade  of  the  elm-tree,  or  under  the 

rocks  on  the  steep 
Piping  on  reeds  I  had  sat,  and  had  lulled  my  sor- 
row to  sleep. 

Myers.  ■ 


APOLLONIUS  RHODIUS,  194  b.  c. 

ARGONAUTICA. 

MEDEA    AT    NIGHT. 
'T  WAS  night,  all  earth  in  shadowy  silence  slept ; 
Lone  on  the  deck  his  watch  the  sailor  kept, 
And  gazed,  where  shines  Orion's  belt  on  high, 
Or  the  Great  Bear  bestrides  the  northern  sky. 
The  traveler  couched  beside  his  weary  way  ; 
Within  his  gate  the  drowsy  warden  lay. 
Even  by  the  couch  where  lay  her  infant  dead. 
The  mother  drooped  her  sleep-o'erburthened  head. 
No  bay  of  dogs  disturbed  the  silent  street, 
Mute  the  dull  hum,  the  tramp  of  moving  feet.  • 

'T  was  darkness  all,  and  voiceless  silence  deep  ; 
Still  from  Medea  fled  the  balmy  sleep.  \ 

So  she  her  fatal  treasured  casket  sought, 
With  life  and  death  in  powerful  compound  fraught. 
She  placed  it  on  her  knees  ;  the  streams  of  woe 
From  her  full  eyes  unchecked  began  to  flow. 
Long  she  bewailed  her  miserable  state. 
Then  wildly  seized  the  baleful  drugs  of  fate. 
Already  hath  she  loosed  the  casket's  band, 
Sudden  death's  awful  fear  withholds  her  hand. 
Then  long  she  stood,  to  trembling  doubt  resigned, 
And  life's  sweet  cares  came  imaged  to  her  mind. 


0  MEDEA   AT  NIGHT.  299 

She  thought  of  all  the  joys  of  youth's  glad  years, 
She  thought  of  all  her  gentle  maiden  fears  ; 
The  very  sun  appeared  to  shine  move  hright, 
As  each  fond  image  kindled  on  her  sight. 

Milman. 


MUSiEUS,  450  A.  D. 

HERO   AND   LEANDER. 

THE  FIRST   INTERVIEW. 

Gazed  on  the  eavtii  the  maid,  and  could  not  speak, 

And  strove  to  hide  the  blushes  on  her  cheek  ; 

And  with  her  restless  foot  she  beat  the  ground, 

And  closer  drew  her  modest  mantle  round- 

Sure  omens  all  of  love  —  for  silence  still, 

Sweet  rhetoric,  speaks  the  maiden's  yielding  will. 

At  length,  warm  blushes  purpling  all  her  cheek. 

To  glad  Leander  she  began  to  speak : 

"  Stranger,  thy  words  might  surely  melt  the  stone  ; 

Where  hast  thou  learned  that  all-beguiling  tone  ? 

Alas,  who  led  thee  to  my  native  land  ? 

"  Yet  idle  all  and  vain  thy  words.   .   .  . 
In  a  tall  tower  my  home,  beside  the  sea. 
With  but  one  maid  (my  parents'  harsh  decree) 
From  Sestos'  town  afar,  on  the  wild  shore, 
The  only  voice  the  ocean's  booming  roar. 
Nor  maiden  friends  approach  my  lone  retreat. 
Nor  youthful  choirs  in  jocund  dances  meet ; 
But,  morn  and  night,  the  same  deep  sullen  sound 
Comes  echoing  from  the  wave-lashed  rocks  around." 
She  said,  and  seeming  her  own  speech  to  blame. 
Hid  in  her  robe  her  face,  which  burned  with  shame. 

Milman. 


HERO  AND   LEANDER.  301 


LEANDER  PROMISES  TO  SWIM  THE  HELLES- 
PONT. 

Sweet,  for  thy  love  the  watery  way  I  'd  cleave, 
Though  foam  were  fire,  and  waves  with  flame  did 

heave ; 
I  fear  not  billows  if  they  bear  to  thee, 
Nor  tremble  at  the  hissing  of  the  sea  ; 
Do  but  one  thing —  set  thine  own  lamp  on  high. 
To  shine  at  evening  through  the  silent  sky, 
And  I  will  be  Love's  ship,  my  pilot-star" 
That  beam  ;  whereto  oaring  my  way  afar, 
I  shall  not  see  Bootes,  nor  the  Wain, 
And  bright  Orion  will  be  bright  in  vain. 
Only  take  heed,  dear,  of  the  winds,  and  shield 
The  light,  that  when  I  toil,  by  waves  concealed, 
It  be  not  quenched  by  any  envious  blast, 
Lest  I  go  down,  a  ship  and  venture  lost. 

Edwin  Arnold. 


FROM   THE   ANTHOLOGY. 

LIfE. 

O  Life,  what  refuge  have  we  fleeing  thee, 

Save  in  Death  only  ?     Infinite,  in  truth, 

Thy  sorrows  are,  and  unendurable 

As  unavoidable.     Doubtless  there  are 

Some  beauties  and  some  charms  in  Nature's  gift  — • 

The  earth,  the  stars,  the  sea,  the  moon,  the  sun, 

But  all  the  rest  is  only  grief  and  fear. 

And  if  jjerchance  some  happiness  be  there, 

There  too  is  Nemesis,  who  takes  revenge. 

Lilla  Cabot  Perry. 

AGATHIAS. 

^TNTAGE   SONG. 

Tread  we  thine  infinite  treasure,  lacchus,  the  vin- 
tage sweet ! 

Weave  we  the  Bacchic  measure  with  paces  of  wil- 
dering  feet. 

Down  flows  the  vast  clear  stream,  and  tlie  ivy-wood 
bowls,  as  they  float 

O'er  the  surging  nectar,  seem  each  like  a  fairy 
boat. 


AGATHIAS.  303 

Close  we  stand  as  we  drink  and  pledge  in  the  glow- 
ing wine  — 

No  warm  Naiad,  I  think,  need  kiss  in  your  cup  or 
mine  ! 

See,  o'er  the  wine-press  bending,  the  maiden  Rose- 
flower  beams, 

Splendor  of  loveliness  sending  that  dazzles  the  flood 
with  its  gleams. 

Captive  the  hearts  of  us  all  I  straightway  no  man 
that  is  here 

But  is  bound  to  Bacchus  in  thrall  —  to  Paphia  in 
bondage  dear. 

Cruel  —  for  while  at  our  feet  he  revels  in  bountiful 
rain. 

Longing  most  fleet  —  most  sweet  —  is  aU  that  she 
gives  for  our  pain. 

Williatn  M.  Hardinge. 


"LEAVE  A  KISS  BUT  IN  THE  CUP." 
I  LOVE  not  wine,  but  shouldst  thou  wish 
That  I  its  slave  might  be, 
Thou  needest  but  to  taste  the  cup. 

Then  hand  it  back  to  me. 

For  unto  me  that  c\i\)  would  bring 
From  thy  dear  lips  a  kiss. 
And  while  I  drank  would  softly  tell 
How  it  received  such  bliss. 

LUlu  Cabot  Perry. 


304  THE  ANTHOLOGY. 


ANTIPATER. 

LAMENT    OVER    CORINTH. 
Where  is  thy  splendor  now,  thy  crown  of  towers, 

Thy  beauty  visible  to  all  men's  eyes. 

The  gold  and  silver  of  thy  treasuries, 
Thy  temples  of  blest  gods,  thy  woven  bowers 
Where  long-stoled  ladies  walked  in  tranquil  hours, 

Thy  multitudes  like  stars  that  crowd  the  skies  ? 

All,  all  are  gone.     Thy  desolation  lies 
Bare  to  the  night.     The  elemental  powers 
Resume  their  empire  :  on  this  lonely  shore 

Thy  deathless  Nereids,  daughters  of  the  sea, 

Wailing  'mid  broken  stones  unceasingly, 
Like  halcyons  when  the  restless  south  winds  roar, 
Sing  the  sad  story  of  thy  woes  of  yore  : 

These  plunging  waves  are  all  that 's  left  to  thee. 

J.  A.   Symonds. 

ANTIPATER   OF    SIDON. 

SAPPHO. 

Sappho  thou  coverest,  JEolian  land  ! 

The  Muse  who  died, 
Who  with  the  deathless  Muses,  hand  in  hand, 

Sang,  side  by  side  ! 
Sappho,  at  once  of  Cypris  and  of  Love 

The  child  and  care ; 
Sappho,  that  those  immortal  garlands  wove 

For  the  Muses'  hair  ! 
Sapi)ho,  the  joy  of  Hellas,  and  thy  crown. 

Ye  Sisters  dread, 


ANTIPATER   OF  SIDON.  305 

Who  spin  for  mortals  from  the  distaff   down 

The  threefold  thread, 
Why  span  ye  not  for  her  unending  days, 

Unsetting  sun, 
For  her  who  wrought  the  imperishable  lays 

Of  Helicon  ? 

Andrew  Lang. 


TO  ANACREON. 
Around  thy  tomb,  O  bard  divine  ! 

Where  soft  thy  hallowed  brow  reposes, 
Long  may  the  deathless  ivy  twine, 

And  summer  jiour  his  waste  of  roses ! 

And  many  a  fount  shall  there  distill, 
And  many  a  rill  refresh  the  flowers ; 

But  wine  shall  gush  in  every  rill, 

And  every  fount  yield  milky  showers. 

Thus,  shade  of  him  whom  nature  taught 
To  tune  his  lyre  and  soul  to  pleasure, 

Who  gave  to  love  his  warmest  thought, 
Who  gave  to  love  his  fondest  measure ; 

Thus,  after  death,  if  spirits  feel, 

Thou  mayst,  from  odoi-s  round  thee  streaming, 
A  pulse  of  past  enjoyment  steal, 

And  live  again  in  blissful  dreaming. 

Thomas  Moore. 


306  THE  ANTHOLOGY. 

ASCLEPIADES. 

TO   HESIOD. 

The  Muses,  Hesiod,  on  the  mountain  steep, 
Themselves  at  noon  thy  flocks  beheld  thee  keep  ; 
The   bright-leaved   bay  they  plucked,   and  all  the 

Nine 
Placed  in  thy  hand  at  once  the  branch  divine. 
Then  their  dear  Helicon's  inspiring  vi^ave, 
From  where  the   winged  steed  smote  the  ground, 

they  gave. 
Which  deeply  quaffed,  thy  verse  the  lineage  told 
Of  gods  and  husbandry,  and  heroes  old. 

Goldwin  Smith. 


CALLIMACHUS. 

TO  HERACLITUS. 
They  told  me,  Heraclitus,  thou  wert  dead, 
And  then  I  thought,  and  tears  thereon  did  shed, 
How  oft  we  two  talked  down  the  sun  ;  but  thou 
Halicarnassian  guest !   art  ashes  now. 
Yet  live  thy  nightingales  of  song :  on  those 
Forgetfulness  her  hand  shall  ne'er  impose. 

H.  N.  Coleridge. 

CRATES. 

OLD   AGE. 

These  shriveled  sinews  and  this  bending  frame. 
The  workmanship  of  Time's  strong  hand  proclaim ; 


JULIANUS  ANTECESSOR.  307 

Skilled  to  reverse  whate'er  the  gods  create, 
And  make  that  crooked  which  they  fashion  straight. 
Hard  choice  for  man,  to  die  —  or  else  to  be 
That  tottering,  wretched,  wrinkled  thing  you  see  : 
Age  then  we  all  prefer ;  for  age  we  pray, 
And  travel  on  to  life's  last,  lingering  day ; 
Then  sinking  slowly  down  from  worse  to  worse, 
Find  heaven's  extorted  boon  our  greatest  curse. 

Richard  Cumberland. 


ION. 

TO    EURIPIDES. 

Hail,  dear  Euripides,  for  whom  a  bed 

In  black-leaved  vales  Pierian  is  spread : 

Dead  though  thou  art,  yet  know  thy  fame  shall  be 

Like  Homer's,  green  through  all  eternity. 

J.  A.  Symonds. 


JULIANUS    ANTECESSOR. 

STAY  IN  TOWN. 

Stay  in  town,  little  wight, 

Safe  at  home  : 

If  you  roam. 
The  cranes  who  delight 
Upon  pygmies  to  sup, 
Will  gobble  you  up. 

Stay  at  home. 

//.  Wellesky. 


)08  THE  ANTHOLOGY. 

JULIAN   OF   EGYPT. 

ON   DEMOCRITUS. 
Pluto,  receive  the  sage,  whose  ghost 

Is  wafted  to  thy  gloomy  shore  ; 
One  laughing  spirit  seeks  the  coast, 
Where  never  smile  was  seen  before. 

J.  H.  Merivale. 

MELEAGER. 

SPRING. 

Now  the  bright  crocus  flames,  and  now 
The  slim  narcissus  takes  the  rain. 

And,  straying  o'er  the  mountain's  brow, 
The  daffodillies  bud  again. 

The  thousand  blossoms  wax  and  wane 
On  wold,  and  heath,  and  fragrant  bough, 
But  fairer  than  the  flowers  art  thou, 

Than  any  growth  of  hill  or  plain. 

Ye  gardens,  cast  your  leafy  crown. 
That  my  Love's  feet  may  tread  it  down. 

Like  lilies  on  the  lilies  set ; 
My  Love,  whose  lips  are  softer  far 
Than  drowsy  poppy  petals  are. 

And  sweeter  than  the  violet ! 

Andrew  Lang. 

TO   HELIODORA. 

I  'll  frame,  my  Heliodora !   a  garland  for  thy 
hair. 


MELEAGER.  309 

Wliich  thou,  in  all  thy  beauty's  pride,  mayst  not 

disdain  to  wear ; 
For    I    with    tendei-    myrtles    white     violets     will 

twine  — 
White  violets,  but  not  so  pure  as  that  pure  breast 

of  thine  ; 
With  laughing   lilies   I  will  twine  narcissus  ;   and 

the  sweet 
Crocus  shall  in  its  yellow  hue  with  purple  hyacinth 

meet : 
And  I  will  twine  with  all  the  rest,  and  all  the  rest 

above, 
Queen  of  them  all,  the  red,  red  Rose,  the  flower 

which  lovers  love. 

John  Wilson. 

LOVE   AT  THE   DOOR. 
Cold  blows  the  winter  wind :  't  is  Love, 

Whose  sweet  eyes  swim  with  honeyed  tears, 
That  bears  me  to  thy  doors,  my  love. 

Tossed  by  the  storm  of  hopes  and  fears. 

Cold  blows  the  blast  of  aching  Love ; 

But  l)e  thou  for  my  wandering  sail, 
Adrift  upon  these  waves  of  love. 

Safe  harbor  from  the  whistling  gale  ! 

J.  A.  Symonds. 

O  GENTLE  .SHIP8. 
O  GEXTLK  ships  that  skim  tlio  seas, 
And  cleav^e  the  strait  where  Ilclle  fell, 
Catch  in  your  sails  the  northern  breeze, 
And  speed  to  Cos  where  she  doth  dwell, 


310  THE  ANTHOLOGY. 

My  Love,  and  see  you  greet  her  well ! 
And  if  she  looks  across  the  hlue, 
Speak,  gentle  ships,  and  tell  her  true  — 
"  He  comes,  for  Love  hath  brought  him  back, 
No  sailor,  on  the  landward  tack." 

If  thus,  O  gentle  ships,  ye  do, 

Then  may  ye  win  the  fairest  gales, 

And  swifter  speed  across  the  blue. 

While  Zeus  breathes  friendly  on  your  sails. 

Andrew  Lang. 

TO   HELIODORA. 
Tears,  Heliodora !    tears  for  tliee,  companion  of 

the  dead. 
Last  yearnings  of    thy  husband's  love,  to  Hades 

now  I  shed ; 
Tears  from  a  heart  by  anguish  wrung  for  her  whom 

I  deplore  — 
Memorials  of  regretful  love  upon  her  tomb  I  pour. 
For   thee,  beloved,  even  with  the   dead,   thy  Mele- 

ager  sighs, 
Now  parting   with   a  precious  gift  which  Acheron 

will  not  prize. 
Where  my  desired  blossom  now  ?  its  bloom   hath 

Hades  spoiled. 
And  my  consummate  flower,  alas  !  the  cruel  dust 

hath  soiled. 
Thou  all-sustaining  Mother,  Earth !  oh,  clasp  her 

to  thy  breast, 
My  evermore  lamented  one,  —  and   softly  let  her 

rest ! 

John  Wilson. 


MET  ROD  OR  US  -  N  OS  SIS.  311 

METRODORUS. 

LIFE  A  BOON. 
Ix  every  way  of  life  true  pleasure  flows : 
Immortal  fame  from  public  action  grows  : 
Within  the  doors  is  found  appeasing  rest ; 
In  fields  the  gifts  of  nature  are  expressed. 
The  sea  brings  gain,  the  rich  abroad  provide 
To    blaze    their    names,   the    poor    their   wants    to 

hide : 
All  households  best  are  governed  by  a  wife  ; 
His  cares  are  light,  who  leads  a  single  life  : 
Sweet  children  are  delights  which  marriage  bless ; 
He  that  hath  none  disturbs  his  thoughts  the  less. 
Strong  youth  can  triumph  in  victorious  deeds  ; 
Old  age  the  soul  with  pious  motion  feeds. 
All  states  are  good,  and  they  are  falsely  led 
Who  wish  to  be  unborn  or  quickly  dead. 

Sir  John  Beaumont. 

NOSSIS. 

LOVE. 

Naught  sweeter  is  than  love.     Whom  that  doth 
bless 
Regardeth  all  things  less. 
If  thou  first  taste  of  love,  then  shalt  thou  see 

Honey  shall  bitter  be  ! 
What  roses  are,  they  never  know  who  miss 
Fair  Cytherea's  kiss. 

lAllu  Cabot  Perry. 


312  THE  ANTHOLOGY. 


PALLADAS. 

ENJOY   THE   PRESENT. 
Drink  and  be  merry.     What  the  morrow  brings 
No  mortal  knoweth  :  wherefore  toil  or  run  ? 
Spend  while  thou  mayst,  eat,  fix  on  present  things 
Thy  hopes  and  wishes :  life  and  death  are  one. 
One  moment  grasp  life's  goods  ;  to  thee  they  fall : 
Dead,  thou  hast  nothing,  and  another  all. 

Goldwin  Smith. 

PAUL  THE   SILENTIARY. 

FAREWELL. 
The  moment  comes  to  say  to  thee  "  farewell !  " 
Yet  by  thy  side  I  linger  silently. 
Must  I  then  go  ?     Such  parting  were  to  me 
More  dreadful  than  the  darkest  gloom  of  Hell, 
For  thou  art  as  my  very  light  of  day, 
But  day  is  silent,  and  thy  gentle  voice 
More  than  a  Syren's  song  makes  me  rejoice. 
And  round  thy  lips  all  my  soul's  longings  stay. 

Lilla  Cabot  Perry. 

AN  UNKNOWN  GRAVE. 

My  name,  my  country  —  what  are  they  to  thee  ? 
What,  whether  base  or  proud  my  pedigree  ? 
Perhaps  I  far  surpassed  all  other  men ; 
Perhaps  I  fell  below  them  all ;  what  then  ? 
Sufiice  it,  stranger  !  that  thou  seest  a  tomb  ; 
Thou  know'st  its  use  ;  it  hides  —  no  matter  whom. 

William  Cowper. 


PLATO.  313 


PHILEMON. 

THE  UPRIGHT  CHARACTER. 

He  is  not  just  who  doth  no  wrong,  but  he 
Who  will  not  when  he  may  ;  not  he  who,  lured 
By  some  poor  petty  prize,  abstains,  but  he 
Who  with  some  mighty  treasure  in  his  grasp 
May  sin  securely,  yet  abhors  the  sin. 
Not  he  who  closely  skirts  the  pale  of  law, 
But  he  whose  generous  nature,  void  of  guile  — 
Would  be,  not  seem  to  be,  the  upright  man. 

Milman. 

PHILIP   OF  THESSALONICA. 

TO  HOMER. 

The  stars  shall  fade  upon  the  sky, 

Or  by  the  sky  extinguished  be, 

The  sun  shall  shine  throughout  the  night, 

The  thirsty  sailor  from  the  sea 

Shall  drink  fresh  water,  those  that  die 

Shall  greet  once  more  the  world  of  light, 

Before  shall  be  forgot  the  name 

Of  Homer  or  his  verses'  fame. 

Lilla  Cabot  Perry. 

PLATO. 

'NEATH  THIS  TALL  PINE. 
'Neath  this  tall  i)ine, 
That  to  the  zephyr  sways  and  murmurs  low, 
Mayst  thou  recline, 


314  THE  ANTHOLOGY. 

While  near  thee  cooling  watei's  flow. 

This  flute  of  mine 
Shall  pipe  the  softest  song  it  knows  to  sing, 
And  to  thy  charmed  eyelids  sleep  shall  bring. 

Lilla  Cabot  Perry. 

TO  STELLA. 

Thou  gazest  on  the  stars,  my  star  ! 

Ah  !  would  that  I  might  be 
Myself  those  skies  with  myriad  ej^es, 

That  I  might  gaze  on  thee. 

Lilla  Cabot  Perry. 

TO  STELLA. 

Thou  wert  the  morning  star  among  the  living, 

Ere  thy  fair  light  had  fled  ; 
Now,  having  died,  thou  art  as  Hesperus,  giving 
.  Kew  splendor  to  the  dead. 

Shelley. 

LOVE  ASLEEP. 
We  reached  the  grove's  deep  shadow  and  there 

found 
Cythera's  son  in  sleep's  sweet  fetters  bound  ; 
Looking  like  ruddy  apples  on  their  tree ; 
No  quiver  and  no  bended  bow  had  he  ; 
These  were  suspended  on  a  leafy  spray. 
Himself  in  cups  of  roses  cradled  lay. 
Smiling  in  sleep ;  while  from  their  flight  in  air, 
The  brown  bees  to  his  soft  lips  made  rejjair, 
To  ply  their  waxen  task   and   leave  their  honey 

there. 

Lord  Neaves. 


POSIDIPPUS  —  RUFINVS.  315 


POSIDIPPUS. 

LIFE  A  BANE.1 

What  course  of  life  should  wretched  mortals  take  ? 
In  courts  hard  questions  large  contention  make  : 
Care  dwells  in  houses,  labor  in  the  field. 
Tumultuous  seas  affrighting  dangers  yield. 
In  foreigrn  lands  thou  never  canst  be  blessed  ; 
If  rich,  thou  art  in  fear ;  if  poor,  distressed. 
In  wedlock  frequent  discontentments  swell ; 
Unmarried  persons  as  in  deserts  dwell. 
How  many  troubles  are  with  children  born  ; 
Yet  he  that  wants  them  counts  himself  forlorn. 
Young  men  are  wanton,  and  of  wisdom  void ; 
Gray  hairs  are  cold,  unfit  to  be  employed. 
Who  would  not  one  of  these  two  offers  choose, 
Not  to  be  born,  or  breath  with  speed  to  lose .? 

Sir  John  Beaumont. 

RUFINUS. 

GOLDEN  EYES. 
An,  Golden  Eyes,  to  win  you  yet, 
I  bring  mine  April  coronet. 
The  lovely  blossoms  of  the  spring. 
For  you  I  weave,  to  you  I  bring  :  — 
These  roses  with  the  lilies  wet, 
The  dewy  dark-eyed  violet, 
Narcissus,  and  the  wind-flower  wet, 
Wilt  thou  disdain  mine  offering. 
Ah,  Golden  Eyes  ? 

1  See  Metrodorus,  page  311. 


316  THE  ANTHOLOGY. 

Crowned  with  thy  lover's  flowers,  forget 

The  pride  wherein  thy  heart  is  set ; 

For  thou,  like  these  or  anything, 

Hast  hut  thine  hour  of  blossoming, 

Thy  spring,  and  then  —  the  long  regret, 

Ah,  Golden  Eyes ! 

Andrew  Lang, 

SIMMIAS   OF  THEBES. 

THE  TOMB   OF  SOPHOCLES. 

Quietly  o'er  the  tomb  of  Sophocles, 
Quietly,  ivy,  creep  with  tendrils  green; 
And,  roses,  ope  your  petals  everywhere. 
While  dewy  shoots  of  grapevine  peep  between, 
Upon  the  wise  and  honeyed  poet's  grave 
Whom  Muse  and  Grace  their  richest  treasures  gave. 

Lilla  Cabot  Perry. 

ANONYMOUS. 

TO  AMYNTOR. 

Take  old  Amyntor  to  thy  heart,  dear  soil, 
In  kind  remembrance  of  his  former  toil ; 
Who  first  enriched  and  ornamented  thee 
With  many  a  lovely  shrub  and  branching  tree, 
And  lured  a  stream  to  fall  in  artful  showers 
Upon  thy  thirsting  herbs  and  fainting  flowers. 
First  in  the  spring  he  knew  the  rose  to  rear, 
First  in  the  autumn  culled  the  ripened  pear ; 
His  vines  were  envied  all  the  country  round. 
And    favoring    heaven    showered    plenty    on    his 
ground  ; 


ANONYMOUS.  olT 

Therefore,  kind  earth,  reward  him  in  thy  breast 
Witli  a  green  covering  and  an  easy  rest. 

Bland'' s  Anthology. 

TO  PROTR 
Thou  art  not  dead,  my  Prote  !  thou  art  flown 
To  a  far  country  better  than  our  own  ; 
Thy  home  is  now  an  island  of  the  blest ; 
There  'mid  Elysian  meadows  take  thy  rest, 
Or  lightly  trip  along  the  flowery  glade. 
Rich  with  the  asphodels  that  never  fade  ! 
Nor  pain,  nor  cold,  nor  toil  shall  vex  thee  more, 
Nor  thirst,  nor  hunger  on  that  happy  shore ; 
Nor  longings  vain  (now  that  blest  life  is  won) 
For  such  poor  days  as  mortals  here  drag  on  ; 
To  thee  for  aye  a  blameless  life  is  given 
In  the  pure  light  of  ever-present  Heaven. 

J.  A.  Symonds,  M.  D. 

TO  THEMLSTOCLES. 

By  the  sea's  margin,  on  the  watery  strand, 
Thy  monument,  Themistocles,  shall  stand ; 
By  this  directed  to  thy  native  shore 
The  merchant  shall  convey  his  freighted  store ; 
And  when  our  fleets  are  summoned  to  the  fight, 
Athens  shall  conquer  with  thy  tomb  in  sight. 

Richard  Cumberland, 

THE  SPIRIT  OF   PLATO. 

Eagle  !  why  soarest  thou  above  that  tomb  ? 
To  what  sublime  and  star-ypaven  home 

Floatest  thou  ? 
I  am  the  image  of  swift  ]*lato's  spirit, 


318  TBE  ANTHOLOGY. 

Ascending  heaven  —  Athens  doth  inherit 
His  corpse  helow. 

Shelley. 

PLATO'S   SOUL. 
Earth  in  her  breast  hides  Plato's  dust ;  his  soul 
The  gods  forever  'mid  their  ranks  enroll. 

J,  A.  Symonds. 

AFTER  MANY   A   DUSTY  MILE. 

After  many  a  dusty  mile, 
Wanderer,  linger  here  awhile  ; 
Stretch  your  limbs  in  this  long  grass  ; 
Through  these  pines  a  wind  shall  pass 
That  shall  cool  you  with  its  wing  ; 
Grasshoppers  shall  shout  and  sing ; 
While  the  shepherd  on  the  hill, 
Near  a  fountain  warbling  still, 
Modulates,  when  noon  is  mute, 
Summer  songs  along  his  flute  ; 
Underneath  a  spreading  tree, 
None  so  easy-limbed  as  he. 
Sheltered  from  the  dojj-star's  heat. 


't> 


Rest ;  and  then,  on  freshened  feet. 
You  shall  pass  the  forest  thi'ough. 
It  is  Pan  that  counsels  you. 

Edmund  W.  Gosse. 

THE  MAID   AT   THE   WEB. 

See  how  the  maid  her  distaff  plies 
And  at  the  web  her  task  pursues, 


ANACREONTICS.  319 

Fearing  her  mother's  watchful  eyes, 
But  all  her  thoughts  are  on  the  muse. 

T.  Warton. 

RESPONSE  OF  THE  PYTHIAN  PRIESTESS. 
To  the  pure  precincts  of  Apollo's  portal, 

Come,  pure  in  heart,  and  touch  the  lustral  wave : 
One  drop  sufficeth  for  the  sinless  mortal ; 
All  else,  e'en  ocean's  billows,  cannot  lave. 

J.  E.  Sandys. 

ANACREONTICS. 

THE   DOVE. 

Tell  me,  dear,  delightful  dove, 

Emblematic  bird  of  love. 
On  your  wavering  wings  descending, 
"Whence  you  come,  and  whither  tending  ? 

Tell  me  whence  your  snowy  plumes 

Breathe  such  fragrance  of  perfumes, 

And  what  master  you  obey. 

Gentle  bird  of  Venus,  say  ! 
"  Blithe  Anacreon,  the  wise," 

(Thus  the  feathered  page  replies) 

"  Sends  me  o'er  the  meads  and  groves 

To  Bathyllus  whom  he  loves, 

To  Bathyllus,  beauteous  boy, 

!Men's  delight,  and  maidens'  joy. 

For  a  sonnet  terse  and  trim. 

Which  the  poets  call  a  hymn, 

Venus,  in  her  sweet  regard, 

Sold  me  to  the  gentle  bard  : 


320  THE  ANTHOLOGY. 

Happy  in  his  easy  sway, 

All  his  mandates  I  obey  ; 

Often  through  the  fields  of  air 

Song  or  billet-doux  I  bear. 

*  If  you  serve  me  well,'  says  he, 

'  I  will  shortly  make  you  free.' 

He  may  free  me  if  he  will. 

Yet  I  '11  stay  and  serve  him  still : 

For  what  comfort  can  I  know 

On  the  mountain's  barren  brow  ? 

Or  in  deserts  left  alone, 

There  to  murmur  and  to  moan  ? 

Or  in  melancholy  wood. 

Pecking  berries,  nauseous  food  ! 

Now  I  eat  delicious  bread, 

By  my  liberal  master  fed  ; 

Now  I  drink,  of  his  own  bowl, 

Rosy  wine  that  cheers  my  soul ; 

Sometimes  dance,  and  sometimes  play, 

Ever  easy,  ever  gay  ; 

Or,  my  fragrant  pinions  spread. 

Hovering  o'er  my  master's  head. 

When  my  limbs  begin  to  tire. 

Then  I  perch  upon  his  lyre  ; 

Soothing  sounds  my  eyelids  close, 

Sweetly  lulling  my  repose. 

Now  I  've  told  you  all  I  know, 
Friend,  adieu  —  't  is  time  to  go  ; 
You  my  speed  so  long  delay, 
I  have  chattered  like  a  jay." 

Francis  Fawhes. 


' 


ANACREONTICS.  321 

THE  WOUNDED  CUPID. 

Cupid,  as  he  lay  among 

Roses,  by  a  bee  was  stung. 

Whereupon,  in  anger  flying 

To  his  mother,  said  thus,  crying, 
"  Help,  oh  help,  your  boy  's  a-dying  !  " 
"  And  why.  my  pretty  lad  ?  "  said  she. 

Then,  blubbering,  replied  he, 
"  A  winged  snake  has  bitten  me, 

Which  country-people  caU  a  bee." 

At  which  she  smiled  ;  then  with  her  hairs 

And  kisses  drying  up  his  tears, 
"  Alas,"  said  she,    "  my  wag !  if  this 

Such  a  pernicious  torment  is  ; 

Come,  tell  me,  then,  how  great 's  the  smart 

Of  those  thou  woundest  with  thy  dart !  " 

Robert  Herrick. 

THE   GRASSHOPPER. 

Happy  insect !  what  can  be 

In  happiness  compared  to  thee  ? 

Fed  with  nourishment  divine. 

The  dewy  morning's  gentle  wine ! 

Nature  waits  upon  thee  still, 

And  thy  verdant  cup  does  fill ; 

'T  is  filled  wherever  thou  dost  tread, 

Nature's  self  's  thy  Ganymede. 

Thou  dost  drink,  and  dance,  and  sing. 

Happier  than  the  hajjpiest  king  ! 

All  the  fields  which  thou  dost  see, 

All  the  plants  belong  to  thee  ; 


322  THE  ANTHOLOGY. 

All  that  summer  hours  produce, 

Fertile  made  with  early  juice. 

Man  for  thee  does  sow  and  plough  ; 

Farmer  he,  and  landlord  thou  ! 

Thou  dost  innocently  joy  ; 

Nor  does  thy  luxury  destroy. 

The  shepherd  gladly  heareth  thee, 

More  harmonious  than  he. 

Thee  country  hinds  with  gladness  hear, 

Prophet  of  the  ripened  year  ! 

Thee  Phoebus  loves  and  does  inspire, 

Phoebus  is  himself  thy  sire. 

To  thee  of  all  things  upon  earth, 

Life  is  no  longer  than  thy  mirth. 

Happy  insect !  happy  thou, 

Dost  neither  aoe  nor  winter  know  ! 

But  when  thou  'st  drunk,  and  danced,  and  sung 

Thy  fill,  the  flowery  leaves  among, 

(Voluptuous  and  wise  withal, 

Epicurean  animal ! ) 

Sated  with  thy  summer  feast, 

Thou  retir'st  to  endless  rest. 

Abraham  Cowley. 

CUPID  BENIGHTED. 

The  sable  night  had  spread  around 
This  nether  world  a  gloom  profound ; 
No  silver  moon  nor  stars  ajjpear. 
And  strong  Bootes  urged  the  Bear. 
The  race  of  man,  with  toils  opprest, 
Enjoyed  the  balmy  sweets  of  rest ; 
When  from  the  heavenly  court  of  Jove 


ANACREONTICS.  323 

Descended  swift  the  God  of  Love, 

(Ah  me  !   I  tremble  to  relate) 

And  loudly  thundered  at  my  gate. 

"  Who  's  there  ?  "  I  cried,  "  who  breaks  my  door 

At  this  unseasonable  hour  ?  " 

The  God,  with  well-dissembled  sighs 

And  moan  insidious,  thus  replies  : 

"  Pray  ope  the  door,  dear  Sir,  't  is  I, 

A  harmless,  miserable  boy  ; 

Benumbed  with  cold  and  rain  I  stray 

A  long,  uncomfortable  way  ; 

The  winds  witli  blustering  horror  roar  — 

'T  is  dismal  dark  —  pi"''iy  ope  the  door." 

Quite  unsuspicious  of  a  foe 
I  listened  to  the  tale  of  woe  ; 
Compassion  touched  my  breast,  and  strait 
I  struck  a  light,  unbarred  the  gate ; 
When,  lo !   a  winged  boy  I  spied 
With  bow  and  quiver  at  his  side  : 
I  wondered  at  his  strange  attire; 
Then  friendly  placed  him  near  the  fire. 
My  heart  was  bounteous  and  benign  ; 
I  warmed  his  little  hands  in  mine. 
Cheered  him  with  kind  assiduous  care, 
And  wruntj  tlie  water  from  his  hair. 
Soon  as  the  fraudful  youth  was  warm, 
"  Let 's  try,"  says  he,  "  if  any  harm 
Has  chanced  my  bow  this  stormy  night ; 
I  fear  the  wet  has  spoiled  it  quite." 
With  that  he  bent  the  fatal  yew. 
And  to  the  head  an  arrow  drew  ; 
Loud  twanged  the  sounding  string,  the  dart 


324  THE  ANTHOLOGY. 

Pierced  through  my  liver  and  my  heart. 

Then  laughed  amain  the  wanton  hoy, 

And,  "  Friend,"   he  cried,  "  I  wish  thee  joy ; 

Undamaged  is  my  how,  I  see, 

But  what  a  wretch  I  've  made  of  thee." 

Fawkes. 

LOVE'S   ARROWS. 

As,  by  his  Lemnian  forge's  flame, 

The  husband  of  the  Paphian  dame 

Moulded  the  glowing  steel,  to  form 

Arrows  for  Cupid,  thrilling  warm  ; 

And  Venus,  as  he  plied  his  art. 

Shed  honey  round  each  new-made  dart. 

While  Love,  at  hand,  to  finish  all. 

Tipped  every  arrow's  point  with  gall ; 

It  chanced  the  Lord  of  Battles  came 

To  visit  that  deep  cave  of  flame. 

'T  was  from  the  ranks  of  war  he  rushed, 

His  spear  with  many  a  life-drop  blushed  ; 

He  saw  the  fiery  darts,  and  smiled 

Contemptuous  at  the  archer-child. 

"  What !  "  said  the  urchin,  "  dost  thou  smile .'' 

Here,  hold  this  Httle  dart  awhile, 

And  thou  wilt  find,  though  swift  of  flight, 

My  holts  are  not  so  feathery  light." 

Mars  took  the  shaft  —  and,  oh,  thy  look, 
Sweet  Venus,  when  the  shaft  he  took. 
Sighing,  he  felt  the  urchin's  art. 
And  cried,  in  agony  of  heart, 
"  It  is  not  light  —  I  sink  with  pain  ! 
Take  —  take  thy  arrow  back  again." 


ANACREONTICS.  325 

"No,"  said  the  child,  "  it  must  not  be ; 
That  little  dart  was  made  for  thee !  " 

Moore. 

CUPID   A    PRISONER. 
Late  the  Muses  Cupid  found 
And  with  wreaths  of  roses  bound. 
Bound  him  fast,  as  soon  as  caught, 
And  to  blooming  Beauty  brought. 
Venus  with  large  ransom  strove 
To  release  the  God  of  Love. 
Vain  is  ransom,  vain  is  fee, 
Love  refuses  to  be  free. 
Hapjjy  in  his  rosy  chain, 
Love  with  Beauty  will  remain. 

Fawkes. 

ENJOY  THE   PRESENT. 
What  is  Gyges'  wealth  to  me, 
Though  golden  Sardis'  king  he  be  ? 
I  desire  not  to  be  great, 
Envy  not  the  tyrant's  state. 
All  my  joy  is  still  to  wear 
Rosy  chaplets  in  my  hair, 
To-day,  to-day  's  my  care  alone  ; 
The  dark  to-morrow 's  all  unknown. 

Milman. 

ON  HIMSELF. 
The  women  to  me  say, 
"  Anacreon,  you  gi-ow  gray ! 
Look  in  your  glass  and  see 


326  THE  ANTHOLOGY. 

Your  hairs,  how  scantily 

They  flow  —  your  hrows  are  bare." 

Then  I :   "As  for  the  hair, 

That  may  be  or  may  not, 

I  reck  it  not  a  jot ; 

But  this  I  know  indeed, 

If  I  grow  old,  more  need 

To  have  my  fling  of  laughter, 

The  sooner  Fate  comes  after." 

Edwin  Arnold. 

THE  SWALLOW. 

(a  paraphrase.) 

Thou  indeed,  little  Swallow, 
A  sweet  yearly  comer, 
Art  building  a  hollow 
New  nest  every  summer. 
And  straight  dost  depart 
Where  no  gazing  can  follow, 
Past  Memphis,  down  Nile  ! 
Ay  !  but  love  all  the  while 
Builds  his  nest  in  my  heart. 
Through  the  cold  winter-weeks  : 
And  as  one  Love  takes  flight, 
Comes  another,  0  Swallow, 
In  an  egg  warm  and  white, 
And  another  is  callow. 
And  the  large  gaping  beaks 
Chirp  all  day  and  all  night : 
And  the  Loves  who  are  older 
Help  the  young  and  the  poor  Loves, 


i\ 


* 


ANACREONTICS.  327 

And  the  young  Loves  grown  bolder 
Increase  by  the  score  Loves  — 
Why,  what  can  be  done  ? 
If  a  noise  comes  from  one, 
Can  I  bear  all  this  rout  of  a  hundred  and  more 
Loves  ? 

Mrs.  Browning. 


PROCLUS,  450  A.  D. 

HYMNS. 

TO  THE  MUSES. 

Glory  and  praise  to  those  sweet  lamps  of  earth, 
The  nine  fail'  daughters  of  Almighty  Jove, 

Who  all  the  passage  dark  to  death  from  birth 
Lead  wandering  souls  with  their  bright  beams  of 
love. 

Through  cares  of  mortal  life,  through  pain  and  woe, 
The  tender  solace  of  their  counsel  saves  ; 

The  healing  secrets  of  their  songs  forego 

Despair  ;  and  when  we  tremble  at  the  waves 

Of  life's  wild  sea  of  murk  incertitude, 

Their  gentle  touch  upon  the  helm  is  pressed. 

Their  hand  points  out  the  beacon-star  of  good, 
Where   we    shall   make    our  harbor,   and   have 
rest,  — 

The  planet  of  our  home  wherefrom  we  fell. 
Allured  by  this  poor  show  of  lower  things, 

Tempted  among  earth's  dull  deceits  to  dwell : 
But  oh,  great  Sisters,  hear  his  prayer  who  sings, 

And  calm  the  restless  flutter  of  his  breast. 

And  fill  him  with  the  thirst  for  wisdom's  stream  ; 


TO   THE  MUSES.  329 

Nor  ever  suffer  thoughts  or  men  unblest 
To  turn  his  vision  from  the  eternal  beam. 

Ever  and  ever  higher  from  the  throng 
Lawless  and  witless,  lead  his  feet  aright 

Life's  jjerils  and  perplexities  among, 
To  the  white  centre  of  the  sacred  lidit. 

Feed  him  with  food  of  that  rich  fruit  which  erows 
On  stems  of  splendid  learning — dower  him  still 

With  gifts  of  eloquence  to  vanquish  those 

Who  err  —  let  soft  persuasion  change  their  will. 

Hear,  heavenly  Sisters,  hear  !  oh,  ye  who  know 
The  winds  of  wisdom's  sea,  the  course  to  steer ; 

Who  light  the  flame  that  lightens  all  below, 
And  bring  the  spirits  of  the  perfect  there 

Where  the  immortals  are,  when  this  life's  fever 
Is  left  behind  as  a  dread  gulf  o'erpassed  ; 

And  souls  like  mariners,  escaped  forever, 
Throng  on  the  hajjpy  foreland,  saved  at  last. 

Edwin  Arnold. 


NOTES. 

Page  3.     Homer. 

Of  Homer,  the  earliest  and  greatest  name  in  Greek 
literature,  absolutely  nothing  is  known  with  certainty. 
His  date  may  be  assigned  as  900  b.  c,  though  there  is 
a  difference  of  several  centuries  between  the  extreme 
dates  given  for  the  age  in  which  he  lived.  But  in 
modern  times  the  very  existence  of  the  poet  has  been 
doubted,  and  various  theories  as  to  the  authorship  of  the 
two  great  poems,  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey,  have  given 
rise  to  what  is  known  as  the  "  Homeric  Question."  In 
this  discussion  the  Germans  have  been  particularly 
prominent.  Among  the  English  may  be  mentioned 
Mure  (History  of  Greek  Literature),  Grote  (History 
of  Greece),  Geddes  (Problem  of  the  Homeric  Poems), 
Paley  (Introduction  to  his  edition  of  the  Iliad).  An 
admirable  survey  of  the  whole  question  may  be  found 
in  Jebb's  "  Introduction  to  Homer." 


Page  3.  The  Iliad. 
In  selecting  from  the  Iliad  the  editor  has  wished  to 
include  certain  celebrated  scenes,  and  at  the  same  time 
such  other  passages  as  might  outline  the  main  story 
of  the  poem — that  is,  the  "  Wrath  of  Achilles,"  which 
in  the  very  first  line  Homer  announces  as  his  theme. 
For,  however  prominent  other  personages  may  be,  it 
must  not  be  forgotten  that  Achilles  is  still  the  hero. 
The  unity  of  the  poem  is  centred  in  this  fact,  and  how- 
ever long  may  be  the  episodes  and  digressions,  they  are 
seen  to  be  but  subsidiary  when  viewed  from  this  stand- 


332  NOTES. 

point.  In  the  first  book  we  have  an  account  of  the 
quarrel  of  Achilles  and  Agamemnon  —  the  incident  out 
of  which  the  poem  is  developed.  From  books  two  to 
eight,  inclusive,  Achilles  disappears  from  view.  But  he 
is  not  forgotten  ;  he  is  indeed  conspicuous  by  his  ab- 
sence ;  for  the  Greeks  miss  him  sorely  from  the  fight, 
and  are  even  brought  to  the  verge  of  ruin.  In  the 
ninth  book  he  rejects  the  overtures  of  Agamemnon, 
who  would  fain  win  him  back  to  the  war.  In  book  eigh- 
teen he  learns  of  the  death,  on  the  field,  of  Patroclus, 
his  bosom  friend.  Now,  forgetting  everything  else  in 
his  wrath  and  anguish  of  spirit,  he  becomes  reconciled 
to  Agamemnon  and  returns  to  the  conflict,  as  told  in 
the  nineteenth  book.  In  books  twenty  and  twenty- 
one  he  is  the  central  figure  —  ranging  the  battlefield 
like  a  demon  of  destruction.  In  the  twenty  -  second 
book  he  fights  with  Hector,  and  slays  him,  and  so 
avenges  the  death  of  his  friend  Patroclus.  Two  more 
books  follow  with  the  account  of  the  funeral  of  Patro- 
clus and  the  ransoming  and  funeral  of  Hector  ;  and  so 
the  story  of  the  poem,  that  is,  the  story  of  the  "  Wrath 
of  Achilles  "  and  its  disastrous  results,  has  been  told. 

Page  22.  Helen  on  the  Walls. 
Matthew  Arnold  speaks  of  this  short  translation,  in 
the  hexameter  measure  of  the  original,  as  "the  most 
successful  attempt  hitherto  made  at  rendering  Homer 
into  English,  the  attempt  in  which  Homer's  general 
eifect  has  been  best  retained." 

Page  24.  Parting  of  Hector  and  Andromache. 
"  There  never  was  a  finer  piece  of  painting  than 
this.  Hector  extends  his  arms  to  embrace  his  child  ; 
the  child,  afi'righted  at  the  glittering  of  his  helmet  and 
the  shaking  of  the  plume,  shrinks  backward  to  the 
breast  of  his  nurse  ;  Hector  unbraces  his  helmet,  lays 


NOTES.  333 

it  on  the  ground,  takes  the  infant  in  his  arms,  Ufts 
him  towards  heaven,  and  offers  a  praj'er  for  him  to 
the  gods  ;  then  returns  him  to  the  mother,  Andromache, 
who  receives  him  with  a  smile  of  pleasure,  but  at  the 
same  instant  the  fears  for  her  husband  make  her 
burst  into  tears.  All  these  are  but  small  circumstances, 
but  so  artfully  chosen  that  every  reader  immediately 
feels  the  force  of  them  and  represents  the  whole  in 
the  utmost  liveliness  to  his  imagination.  This  alone 
might  be  a  confutation  of  that  false  criticism  some  have 
fallen  into,  who  affirm  that  a  poet  ought  only  to  collect 
the  great  and  noble  particulars  in  his  paintings.  But  it 
is  in  the  images  of  things  as  in  the  characters  of  per- 
sons :  where  a  small  action,  or  even  a  small  circum- 
stance of  an  action,  lets  us  more  into  the  knowledge 
of  them  than  the  material  and  principal  parts  them- 
selves." —  Papers  Note. 

Page  34.     Sarpedon  and  Glaucus. 
See,   in   Matthew  Arnold's  "  Essay  on    Translating 
Homer,"  interesting   reference  to  this    "  tonic   speech 
of  Sarpedon." 

Page  65.  The  Ody.'isey. 
The  Odyssey  is  the  story  of  Odysseus  (Ulysses).  At 
the  time  of  the  opening  of  the  poem  Ulysses  has  been 
absent  from  his  home  nearly  twenty  years.  During 
this  time  Penelope,  his  wife,  is  greatly  persecuted  by 
suitors  for  her  hand,  who,  in  their  insolence,  come  daily 
to  revel  in  her  palace,  as  related  in  books  one  and  two. 
Telemachus,  her  son,  being  unable  to  repel  them,  goes 
forth  under  divine  direction  to  seek  tidings  of  his  father, 
his  journey  being  narrated  in  books  three  and  four.  But 
in  the  mean  time  the  long  absence  of  Ulysses  is  ap- 
proaching its  end.  He  himself  appears  for  the  first 
time  in  the  poem  in  book  five,  just  as  he  is  about  to 


334  NOTES. 

leave  the  island  of  Calypso.  Arriving  at  the  land  of 
the  PhfEacians  he  is  hospitably  received  by  them,  and 
at  the  request  of  Alcinoiis  the  king  he  tells  the  story 
of  his  wanderings  during  the  ten  years  since  the  Fall 
of  Troy.  This  story  runs  through  books  nine,  ten, 
eleven,  and  twelve.  Alcinoiis  afterwards  furnishes  him 
with  a  ship  and  sailors,  and  sends  him  home  to  Ithaca. 
In  the  books  that  follow  we  are  told  of  his  arrival  ; 
how  he  disguises  himself  as  a  beggar,  and  is  a  witness  of 
the  revelings  in  his  own  palace  of  the  insolent  suitors, 
who  little  dream  that  its  rightful  lord  is  really  among 
them.  Various  incidents  delay  the  denouement,  until  in 
the  twenty-second  book  Ulysses,  with  the  assistance 
of  his  son  Telemachus  and  his  faithful  servants,  and 
aided  by  his  constant  protector  Athene,  succeeds  in 
slaying  the  suitors.  Then  follows  his  recognition  by 
his  wife  Penelope  ;  and  in  the  twenty-fourth  and  last 
book  the  resistance  on  the  part  of  his  Ithacan  subjects, 
enraged  at  the  slaughter  of  the  suitors,  and  their  final 
submission  to  his  authority. 

Page  73,  etc.  Worsley^s  Translations. 
"  Mr.  Worsley,  —  applying  the  Spenserian  stanza, 
that  most  beautiful  measure,  to  the  most  romantic  poem 
of  the  ancient  world  ;  making  this  stanza  yield  him, 
too  (what  it  never  yielded  to  Byron),  its  treasures  of 
fluidity  and  sweet  ease  ;  above  all,  bringing  to  his  task 
a  truly  poetical  sense  and  skill,  —  has  produced  a  ver- 
sion of  the  Odyssey  much  the  most  pleasing  of  those 
hitherto  produced,  and  which  is  delightful  to  read."  — 
Matthew  Arnold. 

Page  76.     The  Lotus-Eaters. 
Compare  the  following  stanzas  from  Tennyson's  Lo- 
tus-Eaters :  — 


NOTES.  335 

"  The  charmed  sunset  lingered  low  adown 
In  the  red  West :   thro'  mountain  clefts  the  dale 
Was  seen  far  inland,  and  the  yellow  down 
Bordered  with  pahn,  and  many  a  winding  vale 
And  meadow,  set  with  slender  galingale  ; 
A  land  where  all  things  always  seemed  the  same ! 
And  round  about  the  keel  with  faces  pale, 
Dark  faces  pale  against  that  rosy  flame, 
The  mild-eyed  melancholy  Lotus-Eaters  came. 

"  Branches  they  bore  of  that  enchanted  stem. 
Laden  with  flower  and  fruit,  whereof  they  gave 
To  each  ;  but  whoso  did  receive  of  them, 
And  taste,  to  him  the  gushing  of  the  wave 
Far,  far  away  did  seem  to  mourn  and  rave 
On  alien  shores  ;   and  if  his  fellow  spake, 
His  voice  was  thin,  as  voices  from  the  grave ; 
And  deep  asleep  he  seemed  yet  all  awake. 
And  music  in  his  ears  his  beating  heart  did  make. 

"  They  sat  them  down  upon  the  yellow  sand 
Between  the  sun  and  moon  upon  the  shore  ; 
And  sweet  it  was  to  dream  of  Fatherland, 
Of  child,  and  wife,  and  slave  :   hut  evermore 
Most  weary  seemed  the  sea,  weary  the  oar, 
Weary  the  wandering  fields  of  barren  foam. 
Then  some  one  said,  '  We  wiU  return  no  more  ; ' 
And  all  at  once  they  sang,  '  Our  island  home 
Is  far  beyond  the  wave  ;  we  will  no  longer  roam.'  " 

Page  79.     "  Hermes  gave  Mm  the  plant  Moly." 

"  It  is  pretended  that  Moly  is  an  Egyptian  plant,  and 
that  it  was  really  made  use  of  as  a  preservative  against 
enchantniont  ;  but  I  believe  tlie  Moly  of  Mercury  and 
the  Nepenthe  of  Helen  are  of  the  same  production,  and 
grow  only  in  poetical  ground."  —  Pope. 


336  NOTES. 

Page  98.  Homeric  Hymn  to  Hermes. 
The  so-called  Homeric  Hymns  are  now  supposed  to 
belong  to  a  later  period  than  that  of  Homer.  They 
may  be  placed  between  750  and  500  B.  c.  It  is  to  be 
observed  that  they  can  hardly  be  called  hymns  as  the 
word  is  now  commonly  understood.  These  hymns, 
thirty-three  in  number,  written  in  the  hexameter  verse 
of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey,  are  addressed  to  various 
divinities,  and  in  most  cases  narrate  adventures  or  pas- 
sages in  the  life  of  the  particular  divinity,  as  in  the 
selection  given  in  the  text.  H.  N.  Coleridge  observes 
that  "  in  this  hymn  Hermes  is  gifted  with  the  charac- 
ter of  a  perfect  Spanish  Picaro,  a  sort  of  Lazarillo  de 
Tormes  among  the  gods,  stealing  their  goods,  playing 
them  tricks,  and  telling  such  enormous,  such  immor- 
tal lies  to  screen  himself  from  detection,  that  certainly 
no  human  thief  could  ever  have  the  vanity  to  think 
of  rivaling  them  on  earth."  Shelley's  version  of  this 
hymn,  of  which  not  more  than  a  quarter  is  given  in  the 
text,  is  a  masterpiece.  Several  of  the  shorter  hymns 
were  also  translated  by  him. 

Page  107.  Hesiod. 
The  date  of  Hesiod,  like  that  of  Homer,  is  uncer- 
tain. His  work,  however,  belongs  to  the  early  poetry 
of  the  Greeks,  —  somewhat  later  than  the  asre  of  the 
composition  of  the  Iliad,  but  before  800  B.  c.  The 
Theogony  is  interesting  as  a  poetic  presentation,  in 
somewhat  systematic  form,  of  the  current  legends  con- 
cerning the  origin  of  nature,  and  of  the  gods  of  the 
Greeks.  The  Works  and  Days  is  a  didactic  poem  ; 
the  first  part  is  ethical  in  character  ;  then  come  practi- 
cal directions  for  the  farmer  in  his  work.  The  stories 
of  Prometheus  and  Pandora  are  first  told  in  Hesiod. 


NOTES.  337 

Page  112.  Early  Lyric. 
The  next  phase  of  Greek  poetry,  after  Homer  and 
Hesiocl,  is  represented  by  writers  of  Elegiac  and  Iam- 
bic verse,  and  the  great  company  of  Lyric  Poets.  This 
period  may  be  given  as  extending  700-450  B.  c.  Little 
more  than  fragments,  except  in  the  case  of  Pindar, 
remain  to  us  to  rejjresent  authors  of  great  celebrity  in 
antiquity. 

Page  113.  Martial  Elegy  of  Tyrtoius. 
"  The  sentiment  of  the  last  lines  is  not  only  ethically 
spirited,  but  it  is  also  singularly,  exquisitely  Greek. 
The  aesthetic  tact  of  the  Greek  race  felt  the  plastic 
charm  of  a  youth's  form  dead  upon  the  battlefield. 
Like  a  statue  marbled  by  the  frost  of  death  he  lies,  the 
perfection  of  life-moulded  clay  ;  and  his  red  wounds 
are  the  lips  of  everlasting  praise.  Not  so  the  elder 
man.  Nakedness  and  mutilation  bring  no  honor  to 
him  ;  he  has  no  loveliness  of  shape  to  be  revealed  and 
heightened  by  the  injuries  of  war  ;  for  him  the  flowing 
beard  and  the  robes  of  reverend  eld  are  a  majestic  cov- 
ering, to  be  withdrawn  by  no  hand  seeking  to  imveil 
secluded  beauties."  — J.  A.  Symoiids. 

Page  115.     Nature's  Calm. 

Compare  Goethe  :  — 

"  Ueber  alien  Gipfeln 
Ist  Ruh, 

In  alien  Wipfeln 
Spiirest  du 
Kaura  einen  Hauch ; 
Die  Vcig^elein  sehweigen  im  Walde, 
Warte  nur,  balde 
Ruhest  du  auch," 


338  NOTES. 

Page  116.     Ode  in  Imitation  of  Alcceus. 
These  noble  lines  of  Sir  William  Jones  are  built  up 
from  the  merest  fragment  of  the  Greek  poet  —  four 
words  only  in  the  original  —  "  brave  men  (a)  land's 
defense." 

Page  117.     Sappho. 
The  name  of  Sappho  has  come  down  to  us  celebrated 
with  the  most  enthusiastic  eulogy  by  the  ancient  critics. 
In  the  old  epigram  she  was  called  the  tenth  Muse  :  — 

"  Some  call  the  Muses  nine.     How  careless,  when 
Sappho  of  Lesbos  makes  the  number  ten !  " 

Only  fragments  of  her  work  remain,  but  so  exquisite 
as  to  make  us  realize  the  loss  we  have  suffered. 

Page  117.     Ode  to  a  Loved  One. 
The  following   Latin  version  has  come  down  to  us 
from  Catullus  :  — 

"  lUe  mi  par  esse  deo  videtur, 
Ille,  si  fas  est,  superare  divos, 
Qui  sedens  adversus  identidem  te 
Spectat  et  audit 

"  Dulce  ridentera,  misero  quod  omuis 
Eripit  sensus  mihi :   nam  simul  te, 
Lesbia,  aspexi,  nihil  est  super  mi 


"  Lin^ia  sed  torpet,  tenuis  sub  artus 
Flamma  demanat,  sonitu  suopte 
Tintinant  aures  geminag,  teguntur 
Lumiua  nocte." 


NOTES.  339 

Page  119.     "  0  Hesperus !    Thou  hringest  all  things 

home." 

Compare  Byron's  beautiful  paraphrase  (Don  Juan, 
Canto  iii.  stanza  107)  :  — 

"  0  Hespeinis  !  thou  bringest  all  good  tluugs, 
Home  to  the  weary,  to  the  hung^  cheer. 

To  the  young  bird  the  parent's  brooding  wings, 
The  welcome  stall  to  the  o'erlabored  steer; 

Whate'er  of  peace  about  our  hearthstone  clings, 
Whate'er  our  household  gods  protect  of  dear, 

Are  gathered  round  us  by  thy  look  of  rest ; 

Thou  bring'st  the  child,  too,  to  the  mother's  breast." 

Page  126.  Thermopylce. 
The  epitaph  is  upon  the  Spartans  who  fell  at  Ther- 
mopylffi,  480  B.  c.  Christopher  North,  in  his  article  on 
the  Anthology  in  Blackwood's  Magazine  (vol.  xxxiv. 
p.  970),  gives  eighteen  English  versions.  He  says 
of  this  epitaph  :  ' '  The  oldest  and  best  inscription  is 
that  on  the  altar-tomb  of  the  Three  Hundred.  Do  you 
remember  it  ?  Here  it  is  —  the  Greek  —  with  three 
Latin  and  eighteen  English  versions.  Start  not  :  it  is 
but  two  lines  —  and  all  Greece,  for  centuries,  had  them 
by  heart.  She  forgot  them,  and  '  Greece  was  living 
Greece  no  more.' " 

Page  127.     "  /  'II  wreathe  my  sword  in  myrtle  bough  !  " 
This  patriotic  song  commemorates  the  deed  of  Har- 
modius    and  Aristogiton,  who  delivered  Athens    from 
the  rule  of  the  tyrants  Hippias  and  Hipparchus.     (514 
B.  c.) 


p » 


Page  128.     "  She  is  here,  she  is  here,  the  Swallmo  1 ' 

This  "  Swallow  Song  "  is  preserved  in  Athenaeus,  who 

tells  us  ♦■bat  in  spring-time  the  children  went  round 


340  NOTES. 

the  town  collecting  presents  from  house  to  house,  and 
singing  as  they  went. 

Page  131.  Pindar. 
Pindar  wrote  every  variety  of  ode  or  lyric.  Forty- 
four  of  his  Epinikia  or  Triumphal  Odes  have  come 
down  to  us.  These  were  written  in  honor  of  the  vic- 
tors in  the  great  athletic  contests  of  the  Greeks  —  the 
Olympian,  Pythian,  Nemean,  and  Isthmian  Games. 
Of  his  other  works  only  fragments  remain.  In  writ- 
ing the  Triumphal  Odes,  Pindar  said  but  little  about 
the  particular  performance  of  the  victor  who  was  the 
subject  of  the  ode,  but  drawing  liberally  from  national 
legends  of  the  Greeks,  he  strove  to  link  the  victor  with 
these  legends  and  so  emphasize  the  glory  of  his  ances- 
try or  his  city.  In  this  way,  and  for  other  reasons, 
what  with  his  wondrous  style,  he  seems  to  have  ap- 
pealed powerfully  to  the  Greeks.  But  it  is  difficult 
now  for  us  to  feel  his  splendor  as  did  the  ancients  ;  at 
any  rate,  for  none  of  the  Greek  poets  is  translation 
found  so  inadequate  as  for  Pindar. 

Page  140.  ^schylus. 
Of  the  three  great  tragic  writers  but  scanty  remains 
have  come  down  to  us  —  from  jlEschylus,  seven  out  of 
seventy  plays  ;  from  Sophocles,  seven  out  of  one  hun- 
dred and  thix'teen  ;  from  Euripides,  seventeen  out  of 
ninety-two. 

Page  141.  Sacrifice  of  Iphigenia. 
When  the  Greeks  were  detained  at  Aulis  by  contrary 
winds,  Calchas  the  priest  told  them  that  the  gods  could 
be  made  favorable  only  by  the  sacrifice  of  Iphigenia, 
the  daughter  of  the  chieftain  Agamemnon.  Then  the 
father,  greatly  afflicted,  must  needs  consent.  But  at 
the  last  Artemis  interfered,  substituting  a  fawn  at  the 


I 


NOTES.  341 

altar,  and  carrying  off  the  maiden  to  be  her  priestess 
among-  the  Tauri.  Iphigenia's  story  is  the  subject  of 
two  plays  by  Euripides  —  the  Iphigenia  at  Aulis  and 
the  Iphigenia  among  the  Taurians.  See,  also,  Goethe's 
exquisite  Iphigenie  alif  Tauris.  Compare  Tennyson, 
Dream  of  Fair  Women  :  — 

"  I  was  cut  off  from  hope  in  that  sad  place, 

Which  yet  to  name  my  spirit  loathes  and  fears  ; 
My  father  held  his  hand  upon  his  face ; 
I,  blinded  -with  my  teai-s, 

"  Still  strove  to  speak  :  my  voice  was  thick  with  sighs 
As  in  a  dream.     Dimly  I  could  descry 
The  stern  black-bearded  kings,  with  wolfish  eyes, 
Waiting  to  see  me  die. 

"  The  high  masts  flickered  as  they  lay  afloat ; 

The  crowds,  the  temples  wavered,  and  the  shore ; 
The  bright  death  quivered  at  the  victim's  throat, 
Touched;  and  I  knew  no  more." 

Page  144.     Progress  of  the  Beacon-fires. 

"  It  is  the  orthodox  custom  of  translators  to  render 
the  dialogue  of  the  Greek  plays  in  blank  verse,  —  but  in 
this  instance  the  whole  animation  and  rapidity  of  the 
original  would  be  utterly  lost  in  the  stiff  construction 
and  protracted  rhythm  of  that  metre."  —  Bulwer's  Note 
to  his  Translation. 

This  description  of  the  beacon-fires  has  been  imitated 
by  Lord  Macaulay  in  his  ballad,  The  Armada  :  — 

"  Then  twelve  fair  counties  saw  the  blaze 

On  Malvern's  lonely  height, 
Till  .streamed  in  crimson  on  the  wind 

The  Wrekin's  crest  of  light, 
Till  broad  and  fierce  the  stars  came  forth 

On  Ely's  stately  fane, 


342  NOTES. 

And  tower  and  hamlet  rose  in  aims 

O'er  all  the  boundless  plain ; 
Till  Belvoir's  lordly  terraces 

The  sign  of  Lincoln  sent, 
And  Lincoln  sped  the  message  on 

O'er  the  wide  vale  of  Trent ; 
Till  Skiddaw  saw  the  fire  that  burned 

On  Gaunt's  embattled  pile, 
And  the  red  glare  on  Skiddaw  roused 

The  burghers  of  Carlisle." 

Page  159.  The  Murder  of  Agamemnon. 
Agamemnon  after  his  welcome  home  by  his  wife  Cly- 
temnestra  has  passed  into  the  palace  from  which  he  is 
never  to  emerge.  Cassandra  still  remains  outside  the 
door.  She  is  a  captive  Trojan  maiden  endowed  with 
the  gift  of  prophecy,  and  has  been  foretelling  to  the 
Chorus  in  dark,  "  whirling  words  "  the  doom  of  Aga- 
memnon and  of  herself. 

Page  165.  Choephori. 
This  play  is  a  continuation  of  the  story  of  the  Aga- 
memnon. The  Choephori  (Libation-Bearers)  form  the 
Cboms.  They  are  captive  maidens  in  attendance  upon 
Queen  Clytemnestra,  who,  having  had  a  fearful  dream, 
has  sent  them  to  make  libation  upon  the  tomb  of  Aga- 
memnon, her  murdered  husband,  if,  perchance,  she  may 
appease  his  shade. 

Page  172.     Prometheus  alone. 
Compare  Byron's  lines  :  — 

"  Titan !  to  whose  immortal  eyes 
The  sufferings  of  mortality, 
Seen  in  their  sad  reality, 
Were  not  as  things  that  gods  despise, 
What  was  thy  pity's  recompense  ? 


NOTES.  343 

A  silent  suffering,  and  intense  ; 
The  rock,  the  vulture,  and  the  chain ; 
Ail  that  the  proud  can  feel  of  pain  ; 
The  agony  they  do  not  show  ; 
The  suffocating  sense  of  woe. 

Thy  godlike  crime  was  to  be  kind ; 

To  render  with  thy  precepts  less 

The  sum  of  human  wretchedness, 
And  strengthen  man  with  his  own  mind. 

And,  baffled  as  thou  wert  from  high, 

Still,  in  thy  patient  energy, 
In  the  endurance  and  repulse, 

Of  thine  impenetrable  spirit. 
Which  earth  and  heaven  could  not  convulse, 

A  mighty  lesson  we  inherit." 


Page  202.     Power  of  Love. 

Compare  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Lay  of  the  Last  Min- 
strel :  — 

"  In  peace,  Love  tunes  the  shepherd's  reed; 
In  war,  he  mounts  the  warrior's  steed  j 
In  halls,  in  gay  attire  is  seen ; 
In  hamlets,  dances  on  the  green. 
Love  rules  the  court,  the  camp,  the  grove, 
And  men  below,  and  saints  above  ; 
For  love  is  heaven,  and  heaven  is  love." 

Page  204.     Ajax. 

"  After  the  death  of  Achilles,  the  armor  made  for 
him  by  Hephajstus  was  to  be  given  to  the  worthiest  of 
the  surviving  Greeks.  Although  Ajax  was  the  most 
valiant,  the  judges  made  the  award  to  Ulysses,  because 
he  was  the  wisest. 

"  Ajax  in  his  rage  attempts  to  kill  the  generals  ;  but 
Athena  sends  madness  upon  him,  and  he  makes  a  raid 


344  NOTES. 

upon  the  flocks  and  herds  of  the  army,  imagining  the 
bulls  and  rams  to  be  the  Argive  chiefs.  On  awakening 
from  his  delusion,  he  finds  that  he  has  fallen  irrecover- 
ably from  honor  and  from  the  favor  of  the  Greeks.  He 
also  imagines  that  the  anger  of  Athena  is  unappeasable. 
Under  this  impression  he  eludes  the  loving  eyes  of  his 
captive-bride  Tecmessa,  and  of  his  Salaminian  com- 
rades, and  falls  upon  his  sword."  —  Lewis  Campbell. 

Page  244.  Troades. 
"  The  depreciation,  almost  contemptuous,  of  Eurip- 
ides seems  to  be  an  axiom  of  modern  criticism.  Yet  I 
must  confess  my  sympathy  with  Mr.  Coleridge,  who 
speaks  with  his  peculiar  warmth  of  the  '  passionate 
outpourings  '  of  Euripides  ;  and  the  greater  than  Coler- 
idge —  Milton  —  who  seems  to  have  had  a  passion  for 
'  Sad  Electra's  Poet.'  Perhaps  their  beauty  is  height- 
ened when  read  as  separate  poetic  passages,  by  their  in- 
dependence of  the  dramatic  action.  Hence  to  me  the 
charm  of  the  Troades.  It  is  no  drama,  it  has  scarcely  a 
fable.  It  is  a  series  of  pathetic  speeches  and  exquisite 
odes  on  the  Fall  of  Troy.  What  can  be  more  admira- 
ble, in  the  midst  of  these  speeches  of  woe  and  sorrow, 
than  the  wild  outburst  of  Cassandra  into  a  bridal  song, 
instead  of,  as  Shakespeare  describes  her,  '  shrilling  her 
dolours  forth  '?"  —  H.H.  Milman. 

Page  250.     Noble  Blood. 
Compare  Tennyson  :  — 

"  Howe'er  it  be,  it  seems  to  me, 
'T  is  only  noble  to  be  good. 
Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets, 
And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood." 


NOTES.  345 

Page  251.  Aristophanes. 
The  "  Old  Comedy  "  of  the  Greeks,  as  it  is  techni- 
cally called,  is  represented  by  Aristophanes.  Onlj-^  eleven 
have  survived  out  of  the  fifty-four  plays  which  he  is 
said  to  have  written.  The  "  New  Comedy,"  more  like 
the  modern  comedy  of  society  and  manners,  belongs  a 
century  later.  Of  Menander,  its  most  celebrated  rep- 
resentative, only  fragments  remain. 

Page  272.     Theocritus. 
O  Singer  of  the  field  and  fold, 
Theocritus  !     Pan's  pipe  was  thine, 
Thine  was  the  happier  age  of  gold  ! 

For  thee  the  scent  of  new-turned  mould. 
The  beehive  and  the  murmuring  pine, 
0  Singer  of  the  field  and  fold ! 

Thou  sang'st  the  simple  feasts  of  old, 
The  beechen  bowl  made  glad  with  wine. 
Thine  was  the  happier  age  of  gold  ! 

Thou  bad'st  the  rustic  loves  be  told, 
Thou  bad'st  the  tuneful  reeds  combine, 
O  Singer  of  the  field  and  fold  ! 

And  round  thee,  ever-laughing,  rolled 
The  blithe  and  blue  Sicilian  brine. 
Thine  was  the  happier  age  of  gold  ! 

To-day  our  songs  are  faint  and  cold. 
Our  northern  suns  too  sadly  shine  ; 
O  Singer  of  tbe  field  and  fold, 
Thine  was  the  happier  age  of  gold ! 

Austin  Dohson. 

Of  the  Bucolic  or  Pastoral   poets,  first  and  foremost 
is  Theocritus,  who  flourished  about  ii70  B.  c.     lie  was 


346  NOTES. 

born  in  Syracuse,  but  appears  to  bave  passed  some 
time  at  Alexandria,  the  capital  of  tbe  Ptolemies,  then  a 
great  centre  of  culture  and  refinement.  Little  is  known 
of  his  life.  Some  thirty  poems  have  come  down  to  us 
under  his  name.  They  are  known  as  Idyls  (little  pic- 
tures), a  name  which  suits  them  well  enough.  Few  of 
them,  however,  can  properly  be  called  pastoral.  Be- 
sides those  given  in  the  text,  we  may  mention  the  sec- 
ond, a  curious  scene  of  ancient  incantation  ;  the  fifth, 
a  picture  of  rough,  rustic  manners  ;  the  seventh,  which 
tells  the  fate  of  Comatas,  some  sweet  singer  of  the  coun- 
try-side :  — 

"  How  of  old 
The  goat-herd  by  his  cruel  lord  was  bound. 
And  left  to  die  in  a  great  chest ;  and  how 
The  busy  bees,  up  coming  from  the  meadows 
To  the  sweet  cedar,  fed  him  with  soft  flowers, 
Because  the  muse  had  filled  his  mouth  with  nectar."  ^ 

To  these  may  be  added  the  twenty-first,  depicting  the 
life  of  two  "  toilers  of  the  sea." 

From  Bion  and  Moschus,  each,  we  have  some  half 
dozen  idyls  and  a  few  fragments.  Idyl  III.  of  Mos- 
chus is  a  Lament  for  Bion,  who,  it  would  seem,  was  his 
teacher  and  friend.  The  "  Lament "  has  been  trans- 
lated by  Leigh  Hunt  and  others. 

Page  274.  Cyclops  in  love. 
"  This  idyl  displays,  in  the  most  graceful  manner,  the 
Alexandrian  taste  for  turning  Greek  mythology  into 
love  stories.  No  creature  could  be  more  remote  from 
love  than  the  original  Polyphemus,  the  cannibal  giant  of 
the  Odyssey."  — Andrew  Lang. 

^  Leigh  Hunt. 


NOTES.  347 

Page  295.     The  Stray  Cupid. 
Compare  Ben  Jonson,  Hue  and  Cry  after  Cupid  :  — 

*'  Beauties,  have  ye  seen  this  toy, 
Called  Love,  a  little  boy, 
Almost  naked,  wanton,  blind, 
Cruel  now,  and  then  as  kind  ? 
If  he  be  amongst  you,  say. 
He  is  Venus'  runaway." 

Page  298.  Medea  at  Night. 
The  passage  is  from  the  Argonautica.  In  the  third 
book  we  have  the  story  of  the  passion  of  Medea  and 
Jason.  Says  Mr.  Mahaffy  :  "  There  is  a  sort  of 
modernness,  a  minuteness  of  psychological  analysis  in 
Apollonius,  which  we  seek  in  vain  even  in  Euripides, 
the  most  advanced  of  the  classical  poets.  The  scene 
where  Medea  determines  in  her  agony  to  commit 
suicide,  but  recoils  with  the  reaction  of  a  strong  youth- 
ful nature  from  death,  is  the  ancient  parallel,  if  not  the 
prototype,  of  the  splendid  scene  near  the  opening  of 
Goethe's  '  Faust,'  and  is  well  worth  reading." 

Page  300.  The  Hero  and  Leander  of  Musceus. 
The  story  of  Hero  and  Leander  was  the  subject  of 
a  poem  by  Christopher  Marlowe  which,  however,  he 
left  half-finished,  but  which  was  completed  by  George 
Chapman  (1.598).  An  entirely  distinct  work  was  the 
translation  by  Chapman  of  the  original  poem  of  Mu- 
sseus.  The  title-page  reads  as  follows:  "  The  Divine 
Poem  of  Musaeus.  First  of  all  Bookes.  Translated 
According  to  the  Originall,  By  Geo  :  Chapman.  Lon- 
don, Printed  by  Isaac  laggard.  1010."  In  his  prefa- 
tory note,  addressed  "  To  the  Commune  Reader,"  he 
calls  the  original  "  the  incomparable  love  poem  of  the 
world."  The  poem  translated  by  Chapman  is  now 
assigned   to  one  Musaeus,  who  lived,  probably,  in  the 


348  NOTES. 

fifth  century  after  Christ.  Chapman  confounded  him 
with  the  semi-mythical  poet  and  seer,  Musseus,  who 
figures  in  the  Argouautic  story  prior  to  the  Trojan 
war  and  Homer. 

Page  301.     "  Sweet,  for  thy  love  the  watery  way  I  'd 
cleave." 

Compare  Byron,  Bride  of  Abydos  :  — 

"  The  winds  are  high  on  Helle's  wave, 
As  on  that  night  of  stormy  water 
When  Love,  who  sent,  forgot  to  save 
The  young,  the  beautiful,  the  brave, 

The  lonely  hope  of  Sestos'  daughter. 
Oh  !  when  alone  along  the  sky 
Her  turret-torch  was  blazing  high. 
Though  rising  gale,  and  breaking  foam, 
And  shrieking  sea-birds  warned  him  home ; 
And  clouds  aloft  and  tides  below, 
With  signs  and  sounds  forbade  to  go. 
He  could  not  see,  he  would  not  hear, 
Or  sound  or  sign  foreboding  fear ; 
His  eye  but  saw  that  light  of  love, 
The  only  star  it  hailed  above  ; 
His  ear  but  rang  with  Hero's  song, 

'  Ye  waves,  divide  not  lovers  long !  ' 
That  tale  is  old,  but  love  anew 
May  nerve  young  hearts  to  prove  as  true." 

Page  302.  The  Anthology. 
The  term  "  Anthology,"  literally  a  collection  of 
flowers,  is  used  with  reference  to  certain  early  col- 
lections of  short  poems  or  selected  passages.  Such 
Anthologies  seem  to  have  existed  among  the  Greeks 
as  far  back  as  the  classical  age.  The  great  collection 
known  as  that  of  Cephalas  of  Byzantium,  dating  from 
the  tenth  century,  was  fortunately  discovered  by  Claude 
de  Saumaise  in  the  Palatine  library  at  Heidelberg.     It 


yoTJ^^i.  349 

may  well  be  called  priceless.  It  contains  several  thou- 
sand poems,  covering  a  period  of  a  tliousand  jears, 
that  is,  from  the  Persian  Invasions  in  the  fifth  century 
B.  c.  to  the  reign  of  Justinian.  Tliese  pieces,  from  a 
variety  of  authors,  some  of  them  unknown,  treat  of  as 
great  a  variety  of  subjects.  They  are  patriotic,  senti- 
mental, satirical.  They  deal  with  love,  art,  history. 
They  moralize  upon  the  shortness  of  life  and  bid  us 
"  gather  roses  while  we  may."  In  brief,  they  give  us 
an  insight  into  the  life  and  modes  of  thought  of  tlie 
Greeks,  during  the  long  period  which  they  cover,  of 
the  greatest  interest  and  value.  The  earliest  collec- 
tion of  English  versions  from  the  Antliology  is  that  of 
Bland,  first  published  in  1806,  a  book  which,  in  its 
time,  attracted  a  great  deal  of  attention.  Byron  thus 
addresses  its  editors  :  — 

"  And  you  associate  bards  !  who  snatched  to  light 
Those  gems  too  long  withheld  from  modern  sight ; 
Whose  mingling  taste  combined  to  cull  the  wreath 
Where  Attic  flowers  Aonian  odors  breathe. 
And  all  their  renovated  fragrance  flung 
To  grace  the  beauties  of  your  native  tongue." 

For  a  full  account  of  the  Anthology  the  reader  may 
refer  to  the  volume  on  the  subject  in  the  series  of  "  An- 
cient Classics  for  English  Readers,"  and  to  the  chapter 
in  Symonds'  "  Studies  of  the  Greek  Poets,"  vol.  ii. 

The  dates  of  the  most  important  authors  from  the 
Anthology  are  as  follows  :  Agathias,  570  A.  d.  ;  Calli- 
machus,  250  B.  c.  ;  Meleager,  50  B.  c.  ;  Paulus  Silen- 
tiarins,  530  A.  D.  ;  Plato,  400  B.  c.  ;  Rufinus,  100  A.  D.  ; 
Simmias,  300  A.  D. 

Page  303.     "  /  love  not  wine,  but  shouldst  thou  wish." 
With   the  epigram  of   Agathias,  compare  Ben  Jon- 
son's  :  — 


350  NOTES. 

"  Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, 
And  I  will  pledge  with  mine ; 
Or  leave  a  kiss  but  in  the  cup, 
And  I  'U  not  look  for  wine." 

Page  306.     To  Heraclitus. 
With  the  Address  to  Heraclitus,  compare  Cowley's 
beautiful   elegy  on   the    death  of   his   frieud,  William 
Hervey  :  — 

"  Say,  for  you  saw  us,  ye  immortal  lights, 
How  oft  unwearied  have  we  spent  the  nights, 
Till  the  Ledsean  stars,  so  famed  for  love. 

Wondered  at  us  from  above  ? 
We  spent  them  not  in  toys,  or  lust,  or  wine, 
But  search  of  deep  philosophy. 
Wit,  eloquence,  and  poetry, 
Arts  which  I  loved,  for  they,  my  friend,  were  thine." 

Page  314.     To  Stella. 
"  Thou  gazest  on  the  stars,  my  star." 
Compare  Coleridge,  Autumnal  Evening  :  — 
"  On  Seraph  wing  I  'd  float  a  Dream  by  night. 
To  soothe  my  Love  with  shadows  of  delight : 
Or  soar  aloft  to  be  the  Spangled  Skies, 
And  gaze  upon  her  with  a  thousand  eyes  !  " 

Page  319.  Anacreontics. 
The  little  sportive  e£fusions,  some  sixty  in  number, 
passing  under  the  name  of  Anacreon,  are  probably  most 
of  them  spurious,  and  to  be  dated  after  the  Christian 
era  —  some  of  them  as  late  as  500  A.  D.  The  real 
Anacreon  flourished  about  530  B.  c,  but  only  a  few 
fragments  of  his  work  remain. 

Page  328.     Proclus.  ||: 

Brief  mention  of  some  of  the  later  Greek  verse  may 
be  made  here.     Oppian  (180  A.  D.)  wrote  Halieutiea, 


NOTES.  351 

a  sort  of  "  Complete  Angler,"  and  au  epic  called  Cyne- 
getica  (on  Hunting).  Lithica  (on  Precious  Stones) 
belongs  to  the  fourth  century  ;  also  the  so-called  Or- 
phic Hymns,  of  a  mystical  character,  the  outburst  of 
Neoplatonism.  In  the  fifth  century  occur  the  names 
of  Nonnus,  Quiutus  Smyrnseus,  Musseus,  and  Proclus. 
Of  the  Prayer  to  the  Muses  of  Proclus,  Edwin  Arnold 
says  :  "  It  is,  in  fact,  an  epitaph  upon  a  buried  religion, 
written  in  its  own  disused  hieroglyphics  ;  an  elegy  for 
Greek  song,  now  at  last  ending  forever." 

Some  translations  and  books  of  reference  for  the 
study  of  the  Greek  Poets  may  here  be  mentioned. 

For  Homer,  besides  Chapman,  Pope,  Cowper,  Bryant, 
Worsley,  who  are  represented  in  this  volume,  the  fol- 
lowing translators  may  be  named.  For  the  Iliad,  Wil- 
liam Sotheby  (1831),  F.  W.  Newman  (1856,  severely 
criticised  by  Matthew  Arnold  in  his  essay,  "  On  trans- 
lating Homer  "),  Lord  Derby  (1864),  Charles  Merivale 
(1869),  A.  S.  Way  (1888).  For  the  Odyssey,  A.  S. 
Way,  "Avia"  (1880),  William  Morris  (author  of  "Ja- 
son,") (1887). 

For  Hesiod,  Elton's  is  the  best  ti'anslation.  The 
Works  and  Days  was  translated  by  Cliapman  (1618). 
Thomas  Cooke's  translation  (1743)  is  pronounced  by 
Mahaffy  "a  pretentious  and  dull  rendering."  For  the 
other  authors  the  following  translators  may  be  men- 
tioned. 

For  Pindar  —  Gilbert  West  (1749),  II.  F.  Cary  (1833), 
Abraham  Moore  (1852),  T.  C.  Baring  (1875).  For 
the  Olympian  and  Pythian  Odes,  George  Moberly 
(1876),  Francis  D.  Morice  (1876). 

For  /Escliylus  —  Robert  Potter  (1777)  ;  J.  S.  Blackie 
(1850)  ;  E.  II.  Plumptre  (1868).  Single  plays  have 
often  boon  translated  :  e.  g.,  Agamemnon,  Ity  IT.  II. 
Milman,  Edward  Fitzgerald,  Robert  Browning  ;  Pro- 


352  NOTES. 


metheus,  by  Mrs.  Browning  ;  Agamemnon,  Choephori, 
and  Euraenides  (under  the  title,  "  The  House  of 
Atreus"),  and  The  Suppliant  Women,  by  E.  D.  A. 
Morshead. 

For  Sophocles  —  Thomas  Francklin  (1757);  R 
Potter  (1788)  ;  Thomas  Dale  (1825)  ;  E.  H.  Plumptre 
(1865)  ;  Lewis  Campbell  (1883). 

For  Euripides  — M.  Woodhull  (1782);  R.  Potter 
(1782).  Single  plays — Alcestis  and  Hercules  Fureus, 
by  Robert  Browning  ;  Bacchse,  Milman  ;  Cyclops, 
Shelley  ;  Medea,  Augusta  Webster  ;  "  Three  Dramas 
of  Euripides"  (Alcestis,  Medea,  Hippolytos),  by  Wil- 
liam Cranston  Lawton  (Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Bos- 
ton, 1889). 

For  Aristophanes  — C.  A.  Wheelwright  (1857)  ;  J. 
H.  Frere  (five  plays  only  :  Acharnians,  Knights,  Frogs, 
Birds,  Peace,  1874). 

For  Theocritus,  Bion,  Mosehus  —  Thomas  Creech 
(1680,  quaint,  old-fashioned  English)  ;  M.  J.  Chapman 
(1836)  ;  C.  S.  Calverley  (1869). 

For  the  Anthology  —  "  Collections  from  the  Greek 
Anthology,"  by  the  Rev.  Robert  Bland  and  others,  Lon- 
don, 1813  ;  "  From  the  Garden  of  Hellas,"  translations 
into  verse  by  Lilla  Cabot  Perry  (United  States  Book 
Company,  New  York,  1891)  ;  "  Selections  from  the 
Greek  Anthology,"  edited  by  Graham  R.  Tomson. 

All  the  above-mentioned  are  in  verse.  Literal  prose 
translations  of  the  most  important  of  the  Greek  Poets 
may  be  found  in  Bohn's  Classical  Library.  Other 
prose  versions  are  :  Iliad  —  Lang,  Leaf,  and  Myers  ; 
Odyssey  —  Butcher  and  Lang,  Professor  G.  H.  Palmer; 
Pindar  — F.  A.  Paley,  E.  Myers;  ^Eschylus  —  F.  A. 
Paley  ;  Sophocles  —  R.  C.  Jebb  ;  Theocritus,  Bion, 
Mosehus  —  Andrew  Lang  ;  an  admirable  version  with 
valuable  introduction  on  "Theocritus  and  his  Ag-e." 
See,  further,  Leigh  Hunt's  charming  volume,  "  A  Jar 
of  Honey  from  Mt.  Hybla." 


NOTES.  353 

For  further  information  concerning  tbe  Greek  Poets, 
besides  the  various  histories  of  Greek  Literature,  Ma- 
haffy's  and  others,  there  may  be  recommended  the 
several  volumes  iu  the  series  of  "  Ancient  Classics  for 
English  Readers,"  edited  by  the  Rev.  W.  Lucas  Col- 
lins ;  also,  John  Addmgton  Symonds'  "  Studies  of  the 
Greek  Poets  ; "  Sir  Edwin  Arnold's  "  The  Greek 
Poets  ;  "  "The  Ancient  Classical  Drama,"  by  Richard 
G.  Moulton.  In  connection  with  the  dramatic  writers 
may  be  read  the  "  Samson  Agonistes  "  of  Milton,  the 
"  Prometheus  Unbound  "  of  Shelley,  and  the  "  Atalanta 
in  Calydon  "  of  Swinburne  —  all  of  them  inspirations 
from  the  Greek. 


INDEX  OF  TITLES. 


Achilles   and  Agamemnon,    The 

Quarrel  of,  3. 
Achilles'  Horses  weep  for  Patro- 

clus,  40. 
Achilles  refuses  the  Gifts  of  Aga- 
memnon, 31. 
Achilles,  The  Return   of,  to  the 

War,  42. 
Admetua,  The  Hospitable  House  of, 

213. 
Adonis,  Lament  for,  288. 
Advance  of  the  Two  Armies  into 

the  Battle,  The,  23. 
After  many  a  Dusty  Mile,  318. 
Agamemnon,  The  Chorus  mourn 

the  Fate  of,  1C5. 
Agamemnon,  The  Murder  of,  159. 
Agamemnon's  Death,  The  Story  of, 

81. 
Agamemnon's  Return,  150. 
Ajax,  Farewell  of,  200. 
Ajax,  Lament  for  the  Affliction  of, 

204. 
Ajax,  Last  Words  of,  208. 
Alcestis,  Farewell  to,  212. 
Amyntor,  To,  31G. 
Anacreon,  To,  305. 
Antigone  goes  to  her  Death,  203. 
Aphrodite  born  from  the  Foam  of 

the  Sea,  108. 
Aphrodite,  Hymn  to,  118. 
Arrival  at  the  Sacred  Grove,  The, 

190. 

Bacchanals,  Chorus  of,  246. 

Bacchus  and  the  Frogs,  263. 

Battle  of  Salamis,  T)ie,  181. 

Beacon  Fires,  The,  144. 

Benefits  conferred  on  Man  by  Pro- 
metheus, 170. 

Best  Gifts,  Tlie,  130. 

Bird-Land,  In,  251. 

Birds,  Cliorus  of,  201. 

Blind  ffidipus  and  liis  Children, 
The,  188. 

Brave  Man's  Fatherland,  A,  250.     i 


Carven  Cup,  A,  272. 

Cassandra's  Wild  Marriage  Song, 

244. 
Chariot  Race,  The,  209. 
Cliildreu  in  the  House,  249. 
Chorus   celebrating  the  Power  of 

Love,  219. 
Chorus  of  Bacchanals,  24G. 
Chorus  of  Birds,  261. 
Chorus   of    Satyrs    driving    their 

Goats,  248. 
Chorus  of  the  "  Initiated,"  269. 
Chorus,  Tlie,  moralizes  on  the  Fate 

of  (Edipus,  189. 
Chorus,   The,   moralizes  upon  the 

Fate  of  lo,  179. 
Chorus,  Tlie,  mourn  the  Fate  of 

Agamemnon,  165. 
Circe  and  the  Companions  of  Ulys- 
ses 77. 
Clouds,  Song  of  the,  270. 
Colonus,  Praise  of,  196. 
Corintli,  Lament  over,  304. 
Craft  of  a  Keeper  of  Slieep,  The, 

297. 
Cupid  a  Prisoner,  325. 
Cupid  benighted,  322. 
Cupid,  The  Stray,  295. 
Cupid,  The  Wounded,  321. 
Cyclops  in  Love,  Tlie,  274. 

Danaii  and  her  Babe  adrift,  124. 
Daughters  of  Pandarus,  Tlie,  87. 
Dead  Sarpedoii,  Tlie,  borne  by  Sleep 

and  Death  to  his  Native  Lycia, 

38 
Death,  120. 

Death  of  Hector,  The,  48. 
Death  the  End,  296. 
Democritus,  On,  308. 
Distaff,  Tlie,  286. 
Dove,  The,  319. 
Drink  from  my  Cup,  129. 

Eclipse  of  tlie  Sun,  An,  138. 
Education,  122. 


356 


INDEX  OF  TITLES. 


Electra  and  Orestes,  229. 
Enjoy  the  Present,  122,  312,  325. 
Epitaph  for  Spartans,  12G. 
Epitaph   on   her  Friend,   Baucis, 

121. 
Equanimity,  114. 
Euripides,  To,  307. 
Evening,  To,  119. 
Exhortation  to  Battle,  112. 

Fair  Euboean  Shore,  A,  211. 

FareweU,  312. 

Farewell  ot  Ajax  to  his  Comrades, 

206. 
FareweU  to  Alcestis,  212. 
Fate,  The  Strength  of,  214. 
First  Interview,  The,  300. 
Frogs,  Bacchus  and  the,  263. 
Furies,  Song  of  the,  168. 

Gifts,  The  Best,  130. 
Golden  Eyes,  315. 
Grasshopper,  The,  321. 
Greeks,  Sufferings  of  the,  during 
the  Trojan  War,  149. 

Happiness  of  the  Departed,  139. 

Health,  Ode  to,  130. 

Hector  and  Andromache,  The  Part- 
ing of,  24. 

Helen  at  the  Banquet,  68. 

Helen  on  the  Walls  of  Troy,  22. 

Helen,  The  Woe  wrought  by,  14G. 

Helen's  Return  to  Greece,  227. 

Heliodora,  To,  308,  310. 

Heraclitus,  To,  306. 

Hercules,  Visit  of,  to  Telamon,  137. 

Hermes  arrives  at  Calypso's  Grot- 
to, 72. 

Hermes,  To,  98. 

Hesiod,  To,  306. 

High  Birth,  250. 

Hippolytos  with  his  Huntsmen 
singing  to  Artemis,  21 8. 

Holiness  of  Law,  The,  186. 

Homer,  To,  313. 

Hospitable  House  of  Admetus, 
The,  213. 

Hymn  to  Aphrodite,  118. 

If  it  only  were  Right,  129. 
Imitation  of  Alcoeus,  116. 
In  Bird-Laud,  251. 
Ion  and  the  Birds,  243. 
Iphigenia,  The  Sacrifice  of,  141. 

Jove's  Ways,  123. 

Lament  for  Adonis,  288. 


Lament  for  the  Aflfliction  of  Ajax, 
204. 

Lament  for  the  Two  Brothers,  169. 

Lament  over  Corinth,  304. 

Last  Words  of  Ajax,  208. 

Law,  The  Holiness  of,  186. 

Leander  promises  to  swim  the  Hel- 
lespont, 301. 

"  Leave  a  Kiss  but  in  the  Cup," 
303. 

Life,  302. 

Life  a  Bane,  315. 

Life  a  Boon,  311. 

Long  Life  not  to  be  desired,  199. 

Lotus-Eaters,  The,  76. 

Love,  311. 

Love  asleep,  314. 

Love  at  the  Door,  309. 

Love,  Power  of,  202. 

Love's  Arrows,  324. 

Love's  Lesson,  297. 

Love  Song,  249. 

Maid  at  the  Web,  The,  318. 
Maiden  in  Love,  The,  119. 
Marathon,  125. 
Martial  Elegy,  113. 
Medea  at  Night,  298. 
Medea,  Warning  from  the  Evil  For- 
tune of,  216. 
Minerva,  To,  106. 
Moon,  The,  120. 

Murder  of  Agamemnon,  The,  159. 
Muses,  The,  107. 
Muses,  To  tlie,  328. 
Music,  Power  of,  135. 

Nature's  Calm,  115. 

'Neath  this  Tall  Pine,  313. 

Noble  Blood,  250. 

Nobly  Born,  The,  250. 

No  Respite  from  Divine  Wrath,  200. 

Ode  for  Psaumis  of  Camarina,  134. 

Ode  for  Theron,  King  of  Agrigen- 
tum,  131. 

Ode  to  a  Loved  One,  117. 

Ode  to  Health,  130. 

CEdipus,  The  Chorus  moralizes  on 
the  Fate  of,  189. 

(Edipus,  The  Blind,  and  his  Chil- 
dren, 188. 

O  Gentle  Ships,  309. 

Old  Age,  306. 

On  Democritus,  308. 

On  Himself,  325. 

Palace  and  Gardens  of  King  Alci* 

noiis,  The,  73. 


i 


t 

^ 


I 


INDEX  OF  TITLES. 


obi 


Pandarus,  The  Daughters  of,  87. 

Paudora  and  her  Casket,  109. 

Parting  of  Hector  and  Androma- 
che, The,  -24. 

Patriotic  Song,  127. 

Peleus  and  Thetis,  The  Wedding  of, 
239. 

Penelope  and  tlie  Minstrel,  65. 

Pestilence,  Prayer  for  Deliverance 
from  tlie,  183. 

Plato,  The  Spirit  of,  317. 

Plato's  SjuI,  318. 

Poet's  Duty,  The,  124. 

Polyxena,  Tlie  Sacrifice  of,  222. 

Power  of  Love,  202. 

Power  of  Music,  135. 

Praise  of  Colonus,  196. 

Praise  of  Peace,  126. 

Prayer  for  Deliverance  from  the 
Pestilence,  183. 

Present,  Enjoy  the,  122,  312,  325. 

Priam  begs  from  Achilles  the  Body 
of  his  Son  Hector,  60. 

Prometheus,  Benefits  conferred  on 
Man  b}',  176. 

Prometheus  bound  to  the  Rock, 
170. 

Prometheus  utters  his  Last  Words, 
180. 

Prosperity  uncertain,  211. 

Prote,  To,  317. 

Psaumis  of  Camarina,  For,  134. 

Punishment  of  Tantalus  and  Sisy- 
phus, The,  86. 

Pythian  Priestess,  Response  of  the, 
319. 

Rash,  Angry  Words,  124. 

Resignation,  123. 

Response  of  the  Pythian  Priestess, 

319. 
Retribution,  250. 
Return  of  Achilles  to  the  War,  The, 

42. 

Sacrifice  of  Iphigenia,  The,  141. 
Sacrifice  of  Polyxena,  The,  222. 
Salamis,  The  Battle  of,  181. 
Sappho,  304. 
Sarpedon,    The    Dead,    borne    by 

Sleep  and  Death  to  liis  Native 

Lycia,  38. 
Satyrs  driving  their  Goats,  Chorus 

of,  248. 
Sea  and  Shore,  29G. 
Slaying  of  the  Suitors,  The,  88. 
Songs : 

Cassandra's    Wild     Marriage 
Song,  244. 


liove  Song,  249. 

Patriotic  Song,  127. 

Soldier's  Song,  127. 

Song,  121. 

Song  of   the  Captive   Trojan 
Maiden,  221. 

Song  of  the  Clouds,  270. 

Song  of  the  Furies,  168. 

Song  of  the  Rose,  120. 

Swallow's  Song,  128. 

Vintage  Song,  302. 
Sophocles,  The  Tomb  of,  316. 
Spartans,  Epitaph  for,  126. 
Spirit  of  Plato,  The,  317. 
Spring,  308. 
Stay  in  Town,  307. 
Stella,  To,  314. 
Story  of  Agamemnon's  Death,  The, 

81. 
Strange  that  the  Godless  prosper, 

210. 
Stray  Cupid,  The.  295. 
Strength  of  Fate,  The,  214. 
Sulierings   of    the  Greeks  during 

the  Trojan  War,  149. 
Swallow,  The,  326. 
Syracu.san  Gossips,  The,  278. 

Tantalus  and  Sisyphus,  The  Pun- 
ishment of,  80. 

Teacher  taught.  The,  293. 

Themistocles,  To,  317. 

Thermopyht,  125. 

Theron,  King  of  Agrigentum,  For, 
131. 

To  Amyntor,  316. 

To  Anacreon,  305. 

To  Euripides,  307. 

To  livening,  119. 

To  Heliodora,  308,  310. 

To  Heraclitus,  306. 

To  Hermes,  98. 

To  Hesiod,  306. 

To  Homer,  313. 

To  Jlinerva,  106. 

To  One  who  loved  not  Poetry,  119. 

To  Prote,  317. 

To  Stella,  314. 

To  Themistocles,  317. 

To  the  Muses,  328. 

Tomb  of  Sophocles,  The,  316. 

Trojan  Camp  at  Night,  The,  30. 

Trojan  Wife,  A,  narrates  the  Fall 
of  Troy,  225. 

Ulysses  tells  his  Story  to  Penelope, 

94. 
Unknown  Grave,  An,  312. 
Upright  Cliaracter,  The,  313. 


858 


INDEX  OF  TITLES. 


Valor  of  the  Ajaces,  Tlie.     Sarpe- 

don  and  Glauous,  34. 
Vanity  of  Life,  129. 
Vintage  Song,  302. 
Visit  of  Hercules  to  Telamon,  137. 

Warning  from  the  Evil  Fortune  of 
Medea,  216. 


Watchman  at  Argos,  The,  140. 
Wedding    of    Peleus   and    Thetis, 

The,  239. 
Winter,  IIC. 

Woe  wrought  by  Helen,  The,  146. 
Wounded  Cupid,  The,  321. 

Youth  and  Age,  115,  241. 


•I 

4 


INDEX  OF  TRANSLATORS. 

(Dates  are  given  for  those  not  living.) 

Anstice,  Joseph  (1808-1836),  165,  196,  239. 

Appleton,  WiUiam  Hyde,  118,  119,  190. 

Arnold,  Sir  Edwin,  115,  119,  120,  127,  129, 272,  301,  325,  328. 

Beaumont,  Sir  John  (1582-1628),  311,  315. 

Bland,  Robert  (1779-1825),  316. 

Bowles,  WiUiam  Lisle  (1762-1850),  126. 

Browning,   Elizabeth  Barrett  (1809-1861),  87,  120,  170,  176, 

179,  ISO,  274,  288,  326. 
Browning,  Robert  (1812-1889),  212,  213,  241. 
Bryant,  WiUiam  CuUen  (1794-1878),  23,  48. 
Byron,  George  Gordon  (Lord)  (1788-1824),  216. 
Calverley,  Charles  Stuart  (1831-1884),  206. 
CampJbeU,  LewLs,  189,  199,  204. 
CampbeU,  Thomas  (1777-1844),  113. 
Chapman,  George  (1557-1634),  31,  34. 
Coleridge,  Henry  Nelson  (1800-1834),  112. 
Coleridge,  Sir  John  Taylor  (1 7<)0-1876),  225. 
Cowley,  Abraham  (1618-1677),  321. 
Cowper,  William  (1731-1800),  60,  312. 
Creech,  Thomas  (1659-1700),  286. 
Cumberland,  Richard  (1732-1811),  .306,  317. 
Elton,  Charles  Abraham  (1778-1853),  107,  108,  109,  121. 
Fawkes,  Francis  (1725-1777),  319,322,  325. 
Frere,  John  Hookham  (1769-1843),  122,  123, 124,251,261,263, 

269. 
Gossf',  Edmund  William,  318. 
Hardinge,  WiUiam  M.,  302. 
Hawtrey,  Edward  Craven  (1789-1862),  22. 

Hay,  William  I ),  114. 

Heber,  Reginald  (178:^1826),  134. 
Herrick,  Robert  (1.591-1674),  321, 
Housman,  A.  E.,  169,  214. 
Hunt,  Leigh  (1784-1859),  72,  278,  293. 


360  INDEX  OF  TRANSLATORS. 

Jones,  Sir  William  (1740-1794),  116. 

Lang,  Andrew,  o04,  308,  309,  315. 

Lawton,  William  Cranston,  181,  218,  219. 

Lyttou,  Edward  Bidwer  (1805-1872),  144,  188,  208,  209. 

Magimi,  William  (1793-1842),  65,  68,  94. 

Merivale,  John  Herman  (1779-1844),  308. 

Milman,  Henry  Hart  (1791-1868),  122,  129,  130,  138,  140,  141, 

149,  150,  159,  168,  203,  243,  244,  246,  296,  298,  300,  313,  325. 
Moore,  Thomas  (1779-1852),  305,  324. 
Moriee,  Francis  David,  135. 
Morshead,  Edmund  D.  A.,  146,  183,  186,  200. 
Myers,  Ernest,  297. 
Neaves,  Charles  (Lord),  314. 
Paul,  Charles  Kegan,  221. 

Perry,  LiUa  Cahot,  302,  303,  311,  312,  313,  314,  316. 
Philips,  Ambrose  (1670-1749),  117. 
Plumptre,  Edward  Hayes  (1821-1891),  210,  211. 

Pococke,  Edward  ( ),  295. 

Pope,  Alexander  (1688-1744),  3,  24,  38,  40,  42. 

SaUsbury,  Bisliop  of  (George  Moberly)  (1803-1885),  137. 

Sandys,  John  Edwin,  319. 

SheUey,  Percy  Bysshe  (1792-1822),  98,  106,  248,  249,  314,  317. 

Smith,  Goldwin,  30(5,  312. 

Stedman,  Edmund  Clarence,  81. 

Sterling,  John  ( ),  125. 

Symonds,  J.  A.  (JVI.  D.)  (1807-1871),  115,  121,  317. 
Symonds,  John  Addington,  116,  124,  126,  128,  139,  222,  229, 

249,  304,  307,  309,  318. 
Tennyson,  Alfred  (Lord)  (1809-1892),  30. 
Verrall,  Arthur  Woolgar,  183,  227. 
Warton,  Thomas  (1687-1745),  318. 
Wellesley,  Henry  (1792-1866),  127,  307. 
West,  Gilbert  (1705-1756),  131. 
Wilde,  Oscar,  270. 
Wilson,  John  (1785-1854),  308,  310. 

Worsley,  Philip  Stanhope  (1836-1866),  73,  76,  77,  86,  88. 
Young,  Sir  George,  202. 

Note.    The  translations  in  the  Introduction  are  mainly  from  Plump, 
tre,  Bulwer-Lytton,  and  Frere. 


I 
I 


Translations  of  Great  Classics. 


DANTE. 

Translation  of  the  Divina  Commedia  of  Dante. 

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